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LUTHER 



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CROMWELL. 



BY THE 



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EEV. J. T. HE AD LEY. 



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NEW YORK: 
JOHN S. TAYLOR, 

143 NASSAU STREET. 
MONTREAL:— R W. LAY. 



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Entered according; to the Act of Congress, in the year 1S50, by 

JOHN S. TAYLOR, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of 

New York. 



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CONTENTS. 



Page 

CHAPTER I. 
Luther, 5 

CHAPTER II. 

Letters and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell, . . 28 

CHAPTER III. 

Thier's Revolution, 82 

CHAPTER IV. 

Alison's History or Europe, ..... 146 

CHAPTER V. 

The One Progressive Principle, , 225 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Apostles Paul and John, . . . .256 



(m) 




ITMEIffi 



LUTHER AND CROMWELL. 



CHAPTER I. 
LUTHER. 



The human race has always been subjected to vio- 
lent shocks, from the commencement of its history until 
now. Revolution has seemed indispensable to progress, 
and every step forward which the world has taken, 
has caused a tremor like the first pulsations of an 
earthquake. We turn from " revolutions" with a 
shudder, for the violence and bloodshed that accom- 
pany them are revolting to our feelings; but we for- 
get that, constituted as governments and society are, 
they are necessary. A higher wisdom, guided by a 
truer sympathy than ours, has said, " I come not to 
send peace, but a sword; to set a man at variance 
against his father," &c. The world is full of oppres- 
sive systems, whose adherents will not yield without 
a fierce struggle, and the iron framework of which 
will not crumble except to heavy blows. Nearly, if 
not quite all the moral struggles of the race have at 
length come to a physical adjustment ; for the party 

(5) 



6 LUTHER. 

weakest in the justice of its cause has generally been 
the strongest in external force. Hence, when over- 
thrown with argument, it has resorted to the sword. 
Then conies martyrdom ; but with increase of strength 
to the persecuted, and the co-operators of rulers, resist- 
ance has followed, ending in long wars and wasting 
battles. 

Thus did the Reformation under Luther — begun in 
silence and in weakness — -end in revolutions, violence, 
and war. 

There seems sometimes a vast disparity between 
causes and the results they accomplish. We behold a 
poor monk, haggard and wan, praying alone in his 
cell, with tears and groans ; we look again, and he is 
shaking thrones, and principalities, and powers. To- 
day he is sweeping the convent, and engrossed in the 
occupations of a menial ; to-morrow, confronting kings 
and awing princes, by the majesty of his bearing. 
And yet no visible power has passed into his hands ; 
he is a single, solitary man, with nothing to sustain 
him but truth, and leaning on no arm but that of the 
invisible God! 

But we are to look for the cause of the Reforma- 
tion out of Luther. That great movement was not a 
sudden impulse ; the war that swept over Europe was 
born in a deeper sea than Luther's bosom. Although 
Rome seemed secure, and her power supreme, the 
heavens had been for a long time giving indications of 
an approaching tempest. The world was expecting 
some great change, and this expectancy grew out of 
its need. The church had no spirituality, and was 



LUTHER. 7 

Worse than dead — it was corrupt. With its observ- 
ances, and ceremonies, and indulgences, it could not 
reach the heart and wants of man. The human soul, 
slowly awaking from its long slumbers, called plead- 
ingly for that Christianity which the Son of God had 
established. But it could not be found in the church. 
The doctrines of grace and justification by faith were 
scoffed at as ridiculous, and salvation by works was 
loudly proclaimed, thus bringing back a religion of 
mere ceremonies — Judaism, under another form, which 
the world had shaken off at the appearance of Christ. 
Added to this, the Romish Church was the den of 
every vice. The capital and palace of the Pontiff 
exhibited scenes of debauchery, drunkenness, and ir- 
religion, that made them a byword in the mouths of 
the people. The same immorality characterized the 
priesthood every where. It finally became a custom 
to pay a tax for keeping a mistress ; and one bishop 
declared that eleven thousand priests came to him in 
one year to pay this tax. The climax to all these 
absurdities and immoralties was the sale of indulg- 
ences, not carried on at Rome, but over the continent, 
by which a few groats would buy pardon for any 
crime, even for incest. 

Thus, under its own corruptions, was the immense 
fabric of papacy tottering to its fall. Kings and 
princes were also in a state of preparation for a 
change ; they began to question the right of the Pope 
to the vast power he wielded, and which they had so 
often suffered under; while the burghers and more 
wealthy citizens, especially of the free cities of Ger- 



8 LUTHER. 

many, did not hesitate to express their views of the 
oppressions of the hierarchy. The common people, 
too, began to see their rights and ask for them. 
Thus, in the church and state were found the ele- 
ments of revolution. The revival of learning, by 
expanding the human mind, also pushed on the 
movement. The mysticism of the schoolmen, and the 
skepticism of the Aristotelians, were not enough to 
counterbalance the invigorating power of letters. 
Civilization had advanced, and knowledge increased, 
until the whole iron framework of the papal and eccle- 
siastical system, which had been fitted for a darker 
age and a more ignorant, slavish race of men, could 
no longer keep its place. Man had outgrown the 
narrow limits in which he was confined, and pressed 
painfully upward against the bars which held him 
down. A single blow, and every thing would heave 
and part asunder. Europe did not need to be roused 
by the advent of a new prophet ; it wanted simply 
relief. The church, the state, the wealthy and the 
poor — the universal soul asked for relief, and Luther 
brought it. 

All the great reformations of the world have been 
brought about by persons selected from the lower 
classes. Christ was born in a manger ; the apostles 
were taken from the ranks of laborers ; Zwingle was 
an Alpine shepherd-boy; Melancthon the son of a 
smith ; and Luther first drew his breath in the lowly 
cottage of a German miner. Of such humble origin, 
and so ignorant were the parents of the great reformer, 
that his mother could never tell in what year her 



LUTHER. 9 

world-renowned son was born ; but from all that can 
be gathered, it is probable he was born on the 10th 
of November, 1483. Eisleben has the honor of being 
his birthplace ; but before he was six months old his 
parents removed to Mansfield, some five leagues dis- 
tant, where, by the banks of the Wipper, the young 
Luther passed his early boyhood. As we behold him 
with childish, unsteady step, following his mother as 
she staggers under the load of faggots she has gathered 
for fuel, or, later in life, glowing before his father's 
furnaces besmeared with soot and dust, we find no 
indications of his future career. 

After years of industry and toil, his father found 
himself in comparatively easy circumstances. He 
took advantage of this change in his condition, and 
sent young Luther to school. Here his career com- 
mences, and we begin to look for those traits which, 
developed in the man, formed one of the most wonder- 
ful characters in history. Like all those spirits which 
have revolutionized the world, he in his childhood pos- 
sessed violent passions, an immovable will, and great 
energy. No doubt he was treated too rigorously, and 
was whipped oftener than he deserved ; yet, when 
he tells us that he was flogged fifteen times success- 
sivety in one morning, we know, with all due allow- 
ance for over severity, that the little rebel was a hard 
subject to manage. 

When fourteen years old, he was sent to Magdeburg 
to school. Without friends or money, he was at this 
early age thrown upon the world, and compelled, in 
the intervals of study, to beg his bread from door to 



10 LUTHER. 

door; sometimes treated with kindness, and often 
chased with severity from the doors of the rich, the 
little beggar -passed a year of trouble. At the end 
of it, he was sent to Eisenach, where his parents had 
relatives who might befriend him. But here, too, as 
at Magdeburg, he was often forced to resort to street 
begging for food. Possessed of a sweet voice, he 
would stop before the portals of the wealthy, and carol 
forth the hymns he had learned. Driven away, even 
in the midst of his innocent songs, by harsh words and 
threats of chastisement, the poor young scholar would 
retire unfed to some secret place and weep bitter 
tears, while the dim and shadowy future was filled 
with gloomy shapes to his imagination. One morning, 
he had been repulsed from three doors in succession, 
and, as he reached the fourth, that of a wealthy citizen, 
he paused and stood for a long time motionless, 
wrapped in melancholy thoughts. While his de- 
sponding heart Was vacillating between another at- 
tempt and a hungry stomach, the door opened, and 
the good wife of Conrad Cotta approached and invited 
him in. So pleased was she and her husband with 
his character, that they at length took him to live 
with them. From this time on, Martin's days at 
Magdeburg passed smoothly on. He learned to play 
on the flute and lute, and, accompanying the latter 
with his fine voice, he made the house of good Ursula 
Cotta ring with music. Possessed of a remarkable 
memory and rare gifts, he soon outstripped all his 
companions, and gave promise of future eminence. 
He remained here until his eighteenth year, and 



LUTHEK. 11 

then, burning with the desire of knowledge, he joined 
the University of Erfurt with the. design of studying 
law. From this moment he becomes an object of the 
deepest interest. Standing on the threshold of life, 
just beginning to be conscious of the power that is 
within him,^ and filled with great aspirations, his 
imagination revels in bright visions of glory that 
await him. With that dark, earnest, and piercing eye 
so few could withstand, he surveys the path he is 
resolved to tread, while an invisible eye is tracing out 
one for him we shudder to contemplate. 

There are several great epochs in the history of 
Luther. One was the discovery of the Bible in the 
library of the University, as he was looking over the 
books. He had never before seen one, and he de- 
voured the contents with an avidity that showed he 
was drinking deep from its living wells. From this 
time the world gradually lost all its attractions for him. 
Eternity and its dread realities, the soul and its great 
destinies, God and his character, law and judgments, 
filled all his thoughts ; a severe sickness deepened 
these impressions, and at length a thunderbolt which 
fell at his feet as he was one day entering Erfurt, 
and prostrated him like Paul on the earth, completed 
the change that was passing over him, and fixed 
for ever his wavering resolution. He renounced the 
world, and devoted himself to God. The bright career 
that was opening before him he closed with his own 
hand ; and, despite the prayers and tears of his friends, 
and the anger of his father, the young Master of 
Arts and Doctor of Philosophy, not yet twenty-two 



12 LUTHER. 

years of age, bade an eternal adieu to the world, and 
joined the hermits of St. Augustine. 

We get some insight into the bewildered state of 
this young devotee's heart, and see through what chaos 
he was groping towards the light, when we remember 
that the only books he took with him into his se- 
clusion, were Yirgil and Plautus — an epic poem, and a 
volume of comedies. Shut out from life for ever, he 
hears his friends without, earnestly asking for admit- 
tance, and begging him not to commit so suicidal an 
act. But it is all in vain ; the steadfast resolution 
that afterwards a world in arms against him could 
not shake, begins at once to exhibit itself. 

What a picture does Luther present at this time ! 
But twenty-years of age, full of genius and energy, 
at the dawn of manhood, when ambition soars wildest, 
and hope promises fairest, already honored with 
distinctions that older men might covet, he calmly 
turns his back on all — on his best friends, his parents 
— on every thing dear in life, and buries himself 
from sight for ever. And for what does this falcon- 
eyed stripling forsake all these ? For a conviction. 
Such a man may be overborne by force ; but, while 
he lives, his course will be like the lightning's flash or 
cannon-ball, straight to its mark. Oh ! could those 
who wondered and clamored so at his decision, have 
looked into his soul and seen the struggles that had 
no outward manifestation, the agony that found no 
utterance even in groans, they would have stood be- 
fore him speechless. That strong and conscientious 
nature was wrestling with the most terrific thing in 



LUTHER. 13 

the universe — the omnipotent law of God. The 
blows it gave and the wounds it inflicted were all out 
of sight, but none the less painful for that. That 
problem, which has absorbed the soul of man since 
the smoke of the first altar-fire, kindled on the yet 
unpeopled earth, darkened the heavens until now — 
" How shall man be just with Grod?" — he hoped to 
solve in the cloisters of a convent. 

This was the second epoch in his career, and dark- 
nesss filled it to its close. It is painful to witness the 
earnest, yet futile efforts of this sincere spirit after 
truth. Committing over again the old time-worn 
mistake, that justification is to be secured by works, 
he plunges into endless labyrinths, and fathomless 
abysses of gloom. The young Doctor of Philosophy 
stoops to the work of a menial, cheerfully. He be- 
comes a porter, opens and shuts the gates of the 
convent, sweeps the church, and cleans out the cells. 
And when these humiliating tasks are over, he is re- 
quired to take his wallet and go begging from door 
to door. Those who had invited him to their houses, 
and listened to his eloquent lectures, and looked upon 
him as a new s^ar arising in the heavens, now saw 
him at the doors, humbly begging for bread. 

Amid the penances, prayers, and menial duties of 
his order, Luther's career would have had a sad ter- 
mination, had he not found a Bible in the convent. 
To this sacred volume, chained up, he repaired in the 
intervals of his duties, and read with ever-increasing 
spirit. The light that flashed from its pages would 
not permit him to find rest under his system of works. 

2 



14 LUTHER. 

The war between his conscience and a just and dread- 
ful law which he had hoped to lay, only raged the 
fiercer, and profounder melancholy fell upon him. 

His exodus from bondage was to be through a 
wilder sea than that which rolled at the feet of the 
Hebrew host. 

After he was relieved from his menial duties, he 
spent his time between the most exhausting studies, 
prayers, fastings, mortifications, and watchings. 
Weeks together, of sleepless nights, convulsions, 
tears, and groans, told with what agony he strug- 
gled with the great problem, " How shall a man be 
just with (rod !" Chased by that question as with 
whip of scorpion, through the whole round of works, 
he became pale, emaciated, and haggard. He wan- 
dered like a ghost through the cloisters, and his natu- 
rally bright and flashing eye took at times the 
glare of insanity. Once in the midst of the mass he 
fell on the floor of the chapel, crying out, " It is not 
I ! It is not I !" His moaning made his cell resound 
day and night, and once, after a seclusion of several 
days, he was found apparently dead on the floor. 
Thus reduced to what he once was, it was evident 
that his body would soon sink under the severe action 
of the mind. Yet there was a grandeur even in his 
fanaticism, for it was based on a great thought, how 
to secure justification. He was grave, solemn, and 
resolute, and when most reduced, showed that the 
powerful soul within was unweakened, its terrible 
energy unshaken. 

To the contemplative mind, how sad is one aspect 



LUTHER. 15 

of the human race ! We see the heavens darkened 
with the smoke of altar-fires ; we behold men pros- 
trating themselves under the cars of idols ; women 
casting their children into the Ganges, suffering self- 
chastisement and death, cheerfully endured, to solve 
this single problem of justification, the study of which 
so well-nigh wrecked Luther for ever. That problem 
has saddened the soul of man from the commencement 
of his history till now. The smoke of Abel's sacrifice, 
ascending from the borders of Eden, was endeavoring 
to pierce the sky for its solution. All the ceremonies 
of the Jewish religion tended to the same end. 

The pagan before his idol, and the Christian at a 
holier shrine, have been asking the same question for 
ages. Pilgrimages have been made, and tortures and 
martyrdom endured, to answer it. The spire of every 
temple and church in the world is now pointing to the 
heavens as if in answer. Every bell on the Sabbath 
day, calling men to the house of prayer, says, Come 
and hear the solution of this great problem. But 
Luther struggled with it with an intensity few know 
any thing about. 

From the state of deep despondency and over- 
whelming agony into which he had been so long 
plunged, he obtained relief where it was least to be 
expected. Going to La Kala Santa, a sacred stair- 
case in Rome, up which our Saviour is said to have 
passed when brought before Pilate, he began to as- 
cend it, in order to obtain the indulgence promised 
to the devotee. But he had not dragged his prone 
body far, before a voice arrested him in tones of 



16 LUTHER. 

thunder, "The just shall live by faith." Startled by 
these accents of terror, lie hurried like a guilty thing 
from the spot, and from that hour he adopted the 
doctrine as eternal truth, and, planting himself upon 
it as upon a rock, looked serenely back on the wild 
sea through which he had been struggling. The last 
rivet in his chain was burst, and he stood up a free 
man. He did not at first see how this doctrine 
struck at the whole system of papacy, founded, as it 
was, on works, and that it required the believer in it 
to deny the infallibility of the Pope in all matters of 
conscience. Yet it did both. 

Not long after, the sale of indulgences, carried on 
with the most unblushing effrontery, aroused his in- 
dignation ; for the whole system was opposed to the 
doctrine of faith, on which he had just cast himself, 
soul and body. He attacked it boldly ; and, Tetzel 
sheltering himself behind the Pope, he attacked the 
Pope also, and the great battle began. 

It is not necessary to trace the progress of the 
struggle ; for the adoption of the doctrine of justifica- 
tion by faith, and his open defence of it when assailed, 
embraced the Reformation— the first was the soul, the 
other, its outward manifestation. 

Having, therefore, seen him fairly launched on his 
spiritual life, and irrevocably committed to an out- 
ward struggle, we can turn from his career to his 
character. 

Luther was born for action. He was one of those 
determined spirits that are at home in strife and 
danger ; opposition and rage steadied him. For a 



LUTHER, 17 

long time held in bondage, not from fear of men, but 
because he could not find the truth, he no sooner dis- 
covered it and announced himself its champion, than 
he became a different man. Instead of the menial 
monk, schooling his iron nature into slavish submis- 
sion, he is the bold reformer, shaking the pillars of 
empire. The falcon eye can at last look fearlessly 
forth, and the eloquent voice speak clearly out. Tied 
clown by no superstitious forms, checked and made 
mute by no authority he feels bound to regard, with 
his feet planted on eternal rock, and his knee bent 
to God alone, he contemplates calmly the commotions 
about him. 

The Pope smiled at the ravings of this fanatical 
monk, and for a long time could not be persuaded to 
notice his conduct. Seated on the seven-hilled city, 
and every throne of Europe on his side, how could 
he fear the idle prating of a would-be reformer ? 
But he at length awoke from his dangerous dream, 
and stood up to crush at one stroke the impious 
enemy of the church of God. Luther had fought 
manfully against the errors and superstitions of the. 
church, disputed with the subtle schoolmen and phi- 
losophers of Germany, borne up against the tide of 
passion that had threatened to sweep him away, 
resisted the tame advice of his friends, and moved 
forward amid obstacles that would have crushed any. 
ordinary spirit, and now, to crown the whole, the 
thunders of Rome were launched at him. Kings 
and princes he could meet with " Thus saith the 
Lord;" but how will he meet the authority of the 



18 LUTHER. 

church ? the anathemas of God's vicegerent on earth ? 
There was not a monarch of Europe, though with an 
army of fifty thousand men at his back, but would 
have turned pale at that curse and trembled for his 
crown ; for the Pontiff did not rely solely on his au- 
thority as head of the church — he had other weapons 
he well knew, how to use. What could Luther do 
against such a power, backed by the thrones of Eu- 
rope ? To all men it seemed idle to resist ; his ene- 
mies were elated with confidence, his friends depressed 
with fear. The good throughout the land, who had 
hailed with joy the rising light, gave way to discou- 
ragement. It was a sad hour for Luther, for he stood 
alone, the mark of papal vengeance. He had with- 
stood ridicule, solicitations, and flattery, hurled back 
with scorn threats of violence ; but to meet Rome 
single-handed, the authority of the church, too, which 
he had been taught to venerate — to brave such tre- 
mendous power, while oppressed with the fear that 
he might be stepping beyond the bounds of duty, 
was more than could be expected of any man. Wit- 
tenberg was at that moment an object of deeper 
interest than Rome itself. All eyes were turned 
thither, to see what the bold monk would do. Will 
his recantation be full or partial — his penitence real 
or feigned — his retreat skillful or humiliating ? These 
were the questions asked ; and, while all waited the 
answer, suddenly there burst upon the world a paper 
headed "Against the bull of Antichrist." The Pope 
had driven Luther to the wall, and he turned at bay 
like a lion. He dare call the head of the church 



LUTHER. 19 

"Antichrist" — nay more, he boldly arraigns him 
before Christendom. Condemned by the Pope, he 
exclaims, " I appeal from the Pope, first, as an un- 
just, rash, and tyrannical judge, who condemns me 
without a hearing ; secondly, as a heretic, misled, 
hardened, and condemned by the Holy Scriptures; 
thirdly, as an enemy, an Antichrist, an adversary, 
an opposer of the Holy Scriptures, who dares set 
his own words in opposition to the Word of God ; 
fourthly, as a despiser, a calumniator, a blasphemer 
of the holy Christian church." His friends stood 
aghast at this presumption and daring ; for, not only 
did he thus rain his terrible accusations on the Pon- 
tiff, in his appeal to Charles the Emperor, "electors, 
princes, counts, barons, knights, gentlemen," &c, 
but declared that, if they scorned his prayer, he 
" abandoned them to the supreme judgment of God, 
with the Pope, and his adherents." " The monk of 
Wittenberg will do all that the sovereign Pontiff dare 
do. He gives judgment for judgment ; he raises pile 
for pile. The son of the Medici and the son of the 
miner of Mansfield have gone down into the lists, 
and in this desperate struggle, which shakes the world, 
one does not strike a blow which the other does not 

return." 

Not content with having hurled back with redoubled 
power the thunders of Rome, he publicly burned the 
bull, saying, as it sank in the flames, " Since thou 
hast vexed the holy one of the Lord, may everlast- 
ing fire vex and consume thee !" Luther, disputing 
with learned men, and rising superior to the obstacles 



20 LUTHER. 

that surrounded him, had excited the admiration of 
friends and enemies. His daring journey to Augs- 
burg on foot, to have an interview with the Pope's 
legate, his firmness amid the trials to which he was 
subjected for ten days, plied now with arguments 
and entreaties, and now with flatteries, and again 
assailed with threats, had elevated him still higher 
as a reformer ; but this flinging down the gauntlet to 
the Pope, and pouring his maledictions on the triple 
crown, was a step that those who looked upon him 
simply as a bold man could not comprehend. He 
was by nature fearless ; he had the same inflexible 
will and unconquerable energy that characterized 
Paul, Bonaparte, Cromwell, and all those great men 
around whom the waves of revolution have dashed 
in vain. His was a spirit that rises with difficulties, 
that may be crushed but never broken. 

Luther's courage, however, had a firmer basis than 
his own will — it rested on truth. With one thus 
anchored, and who has no thought or wish beyond 
the truth, the common motives that sway men have 
no influence. He has nothing to do with compromises, 
diplomacy, or results. The word of the living Grod is 
ever before him, reducing monarchs and dignitaries 
to the level of the meanest subject, while no conse- 
quences can be so awful as the wrath of the Almighty. 
Here was the secret of Luther's strength. The fate 
of Huss was before him ; but the faith of Huss also 
strengthened his soul. These two great traits of 
lofty courage, and still loftier faith, are exhibited in 
every step of Luther's progress, and fills his life with 



LUTHEK. 21 

sublime pictures, chief among which is his appearance 
at the Diet of Worms. 

That council, composed of six electors, twenty-four 
dukes, eight margraves, thirty-archbishops, bishops, 
and abbots, seven ambassadors, princes, counts, barons, 
and deputies, in all two hundred and four, with the 
young Emperor Charles at their head, was the most 
imposing assembly that had ever met in Germany. 
Behold, Luther has been summoned thither, to settle 
the fate of Europe and of future generations ! His 
last farewell to Melancthon, as he departs, is that of 
one who feels he may never return. Gloomy fore- 
bodings accompany him, and he is every where met 
with strong entreaties not to proceed. They tell him 
his journey will end at the stake, or in the gloomy 
dungeon of a Roman prison. Nothing daunted, he 
replies, " Though they kindle a fire all the way from 
Worms to Wittenberg, the flames of which reached 
to heaven, I would go through it in the name of the 
Lord. I would appear before them, I would enter 
the jaws of this Behemoth and break his teeth, con- 
fessing the Lord Jesus Christ." As he approaches 
the city, a message meets him from Spalatin, saying, 
" Do not enter Worms." " Go tell your master," he 
replies, a that, even should there be as many devils 
in Worms as tiles on the housetops, still I would 
enter it." He did enter, and, as he moved along the 
street, a solemn chant met his ear — 

" Advenistis, O desiderabilis, 
Quern expectabamus in tenebris," 



22 ' LUTHER. 

as if the ghosts of the departed were already wel- 
coming him to their abode. 

In the presence of the august assembly that await 
him, the simply-habited monk enters, and, casting his 
eagle eye around on the princes, nobles, and dignita- 
rie, dressed in the pomp that becomes the occasion, 
turns to his emperor. The ample hall, the character 
of the assembly, the imposing display, the loneliness 
of his position, as he feels that all are his enemies, 
and the tremendous results depending, are enough to 
confuse and shake the firmest spirit. As he passed 
in, the old warlike knight, George of Freundsberg, 
whose hair had been bleached in the storm of ,battle, 
touched him on the shoulder, saying, " Poor monk ! 
poor monk ! thou art now going to make a nobler 
stand than I or any other captain have ever made in 
the bloodiest of our battles." The old warrior felt 
that he had rather charge alone on a rank of serried 
steel, than meet the responsibilities and trials of that 
hour. No wonder that for a moment Luther's bril- 
liant eye was dazzled, and his clear intellect seemed 
confused. But the whispered words, " When ye shall 
be brought before governors and kings for my sake, 
the Spirit of your Father shall speak in you" brought 
back his soul to its firm trusting-place, and he was 
himself again, and stood composed, though alone, 
before the throne of his emperor. His voice rose 
clear and calm over the vast assembly, and, though 
his monarch's eye never left him for a moment, he 
felt only that the eye of God was upon him. When 
asked if he would retract his books, he spoke for an 



LUTHER, 23 

hour with the boldness of a prophet, in which, having 
gone over the accusations against him, he declared 
that he could not retract that which was in accordance 
with the Word of God. " I cannot" said he, u l 
will not retract." He paused a moment, and casting 
his eye fearlessly yet respectfully around on the 
assembly which held his fate in their hands, he ex- 
claimed, " Here I stand; I can do no more. God 
help me. Amen!" That deep and solemn Amen I 
thrilled that assembly like the peal of a trumpet, and 
the Reformation was safe. It was nobly, sublimely 
done, and the monk of Wittemberg was greater than 
a king. Resting in sublime faith on the simple pro- 
mise of the eternal God, and looking beyond the 
pomp, and splendor, and commotions, and sufferings 
of this world, he saw the judgment to come, and the 
heaven that awaited him. As he thus stood, with 
clasped hands and uplifted eyes, he exhibited a moral 
grandeur rarely witnessed on earth. 

The scene changes to a solitary castle on the 
heights of Wartburg, on the lonely ramparts of which 
sits a military figure, wrapped in solemn contempla- 
tion. The forests heave darkly below him, and all 
around is wild and silent. Beneath that soldier's 
coat beats the heart of the monk of Wittenberg. 
He is a prisoner, and for a time his friends mourn 
him as dead. But, though bolts and bars may con- 
fine his limbs, they cannot restrain the fiery energy 
of his heart. Filled with the deepest solicitude for 
the cause of truth, mourning for the church, like 
Hagar over her son in the wilderness, he speaks from 



24 LUTHER. 

his mountain home ; and the venders of indulgences, 
who thought they could prosecute their nafareous 
traffic in peace, are startled as if arrested by a voice 
from the dead. 

With an industry that never nagged, and a rapidity 
that astonished even those who knew his amazing 
energy best, he " continued for a whole year to thun- 
der from his mountain retreat." So great was the 
commotion he created, that the elector finally forbade 
him to write any more. " The elector will not suffer 
me to. write !" said he, in a letter to Spalatin, " and 
I, too, will not suffer the elector not to permit me to 
write. Rather would I destroy yourself, the elector, 
and the whole world for ever. It is very fine, for- 
sooth, to hear you say we must not disturb the public 
tranquillity, while you allow the everlasting peace of 
God to be disturbed." 

It was in this old castle he hurled his inkstand at 
the devil, whom he thought he saw menacing him in 
his apartment. Shut out from the world of action, 
hearing rumors of the. triumph of the enemies of 
truth, chafing under the chains that kept him aloof 
from the strife, his mind turned upon itself, and, in a 
moment of diseased imagination, he beheld his arch 
enemy. face to face. Nothing daunted, the intrepid 
reformer gave him battle at once. He had faced 
princes, emperors, and the Pope, and he could face 
also the devil. Noble as well as fearless, he did not 
wish to have his friends incur danger on his account, 
and when he made his escape from Wartburg, hear- 
ing that the elector was concerned because he could 



LUTHER. 25 

no longer protect him, he wrote him : "As for what 
concerns me, your highness must act as an elector ; 
you must let the orders of his imperial majesty take 
their course in your towns and rural districts. You 
must offer no resistance if men desire to seize or 
hill me." Borne up by a faith that nothing could shake, 
he wished to be left in the hands of God, where he 
had long placed the cause he advocated. Never, 
since Paul, had there been a man so resolute and 
fiery, and yet so humble and submissive before the 
truth. 

Turning successively to the priests, bishops, Pope, 
and Henry Eighth of England, he prostrated them 
by his invincible arguments, and . scattered them with 
his terrible invective. Never cast down by the in- 
creasing number of his foes, nor for a moment yield- 
ing to the opposition that threatened to sweep every 
thing down in its progress, he rained his blows around 
him like a giant. He always seemed prepared for 
any onset,, and , it required apparently no thought to 
meet and thrust every form of attack. Did the Pope 
anathematize ? he anathematized in turn ; did the 
schoolmen assail him with subtle philosophy ? he over- 
threw them with philosophy. A magazine of arms 
in himself, the most powerful antagonists dreaded to 
assail him. His wit and learning were equal to his 
argumentative powers ; and the shafts of ridicule, 
though not always sheathed in the most courteous 
language, hit the mark they were aimed at. His 
rugged features, deep set eyes, and bold and intrepid 
manner, caused those who disputed with him once, 



26 LUTHER. 

to shrink from a second encounter. When Staupitz 
wished De Vio, the Pope's legate, to have another 
interview with Luther, he replied, " I will no longer 
dispute with that beast, for it has deep eyes and 
wonderful speculations in its head." 

But that which most distinguished him was his 
faith. To that alone must we look as the basis of his 
conduct. The Herculean strength he exhibited was 
obtained out of sight, in solitary communion with 
God. When the heavens grew dark overhead, and 
the thunders uttered their voices, and the approach- 
ing storm seemed too wild for man to resist, he knelt 
before the God of the tempest, and pressed the pro- 
mises of his Word with an earnestness and resolution 
that awe us. Through all his early career, he 
wrestled like Jacob with the strength of Israel, and 
prevailed. But especially in those dreadful moments 
when doubts prevailed, and the crushing thought 
would force itself upon him that perhaps he was 
wrong, did his spirit go forth to the Father of Lights 
with a faith that would not be denied. From these 
solemn interviews he rose serene and firm. The arm 
on which he leaned was stronger than that of man ; 
the frown he feared more terrible than an earthly 
monarch's ; and the rewards he sought beyond the 
power of earth to give or take away. A most 
touching and fearful instance of this is furnished in 
the prayer he was heard to make after his first ap- 
pearance before the Diet of Worms, and previous to 
the one in which he was to give his final answer. In 
it the soul of Luther is laid bare, in his secret motives 



LUTHER. 27 

and purposes revealed, and the hidden life thrown 
open to view. It was an awful prayer, making the 
soul shake even to read it, and rose from darkness^, 
and agony, and storms we know nothing of. 

We cannot go into the principles of the Reforma- 
tion, or follow out the life of Luther, or discuss his 
doctrines. However men may differ respecting his 
views, or the mode he took on many occasions to 
accomplish his ends, all acknowledge him to be an 
honest man and a true Christian. Whether we be- 
hold him stretched on the floor of his cloister, strug- 
gling for deliverance from spiritual bondage, or un- 
folding the truths of the Bible to listening thousands ; 
whether we see him on his way to danger and perhaps 
death, composing and singing " Eina feste berg ist 
unsen Gfott ;" or listen to his thrilling prayer for 7 help, 
or hear his deep "Amen," at the Diet of Worms, we 
feel that we look upon a man whom no bribery can 
corrupt, nor flattery seduce, no opposition overcome 
or cause to waver from the truth. 



28 OLIVER CROMWELL. 



CHAPTER II. 

LETTERS AND SPEECHES OF OLIVER CROM- 
WELL. 

English historians have been laboring for a long 
time under what theologians call moral inability, in 
their attempts to give a correct history of Oliver 
Cromwell. There are four things, on either of which, 
till Carlyle appeared, no English writer could treat 
with the least justice or truth. These are, the Ameri- 
can Revolution — the English and Irish connection- — 
Bonaparte and his career, and Cromwell and the re- 
bellion he represents. He who relies on English his- 
tory, or takes his impressions from English literature 
on these points, will believe a, fable and run wide of 
the truth in the conclusions he adopts. 

Cromwell, perhaps, has suffered most of all from 
the hands of his English historians. Having con- 
demned to death a king, overthrown the Established 
Church, and put plebeians in all the high places in 
the kingdom, and himself sat quietly down on the 
throne of the British Empire, — he stands, and has 
stood for ages, a sort of monster, of such horrid as- 
pect and nature that to touch him at all is revolting, 
and to disturb his bones, except to dig them up for 
the gallows, a crime. Not only has the inveterate 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 29 

prejudice against him kept the light of truth from his 
character, but the deep and unparalleled obloquy that 
fell on him at the restoration of the Stuarts, prevented 
the preservation of papers and records so necessary to 
the formation of a correct judgment. The Great Re- 
bellion has been a sort of indistinguishable chaos, out 
of which Cromwell arises in huge and clearly defined 
proportions only to be pelted with falsehoods and cov- 
ered with scorn. Liberty, however, has kept her eye 
on him ; and, amid the struggles for freedom which 
men have since passed through, her finger has pointed 
back to him in triumph. 

Amid so many errors, so much prejudice and false- 
hood, these " Letters and Speeches" are the very 
best things that could be given to the world. Eulo- 
gies and defences would both be disbelieved, for Eng- 
lish history constantly gives the lie to them — but 
here is authentic history against doubtful history — 
Oliver Cromwell, himself, rising up after this long 
silence, and appealing to every true man against his 
slanderers, and opening his innermost heart to the 
world. It is curious to observe the difference English 
writers make between the Great Rebellion, and the 
Revolution of 1688. Charles I. was executed for at- 
tempting to destroy the constitution of England — 
James II. driven from the throne for his invasion of 
English liberty — the father is tried and beheaded, 
and the son sent a returnless exile from his kingdom. 
James is charged with no crime of which Charles is 
not guilty — the Long Parliament exercised .no pre- 
rogative the Convention of 1688 did not wield, and 

3* 



30 ' OLIVER CROMWELL. 

yet the rebellion is stigmatized as infamous and mur- 
derous ; the Long Parliament accused of transgressing 
its power, and Cromwell called a usurper ; while the 
Revolution of 1688 is termed the Glorious Revolution, 
and William and Mary are hailed monarchs by the 
grace of God. Now what lies at the bottom of this 
difference of views and feelings ? Here is the father 
decapitated, and the son exiled — the former more 
criminal than the latter ; and yet heaven and earth 
are not wider apart than the English historians have 
put the revolutions that overthrew them. 

The cause of all this difference is simply this : the 
father was superseded by a commoner, and a thorough 
reformation made in the nobility and the Church ; 
while the son was pushed out by royal blood — the 
Hanoverian line took the place of the Stuart line, re- 
specting still the established order of things, while 
British blood had no stain put upon it. William could 
show kingly drops in his veins— Cromwell those only 
of a sturdy English farmer. This simple matter of 
blood makes William a benefactor and rightful sove- 
reign, and Cromwell a curse and a usurper ; though to 
us republicans, this side the water, the grounds of this 
distinction do not seem very rational or just. 

But justice is at last come to Cromwell in this col- 
lection of his letters and speeches. This book will be a 
bitter pill for royalists and dainty nobility to swallow. 
While the commission appointed by Parliament are 
disputing whether they shall put Cromwell among the 
list of her great men, this work will place him be- 
yond the reach of their votes, and be a nobler and 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 31 

more enduring monument than all the parliaments of 
the world could rear. 

But before we speak of the subject of the book, we 
have one word to say of the manner in which Mr. 
Carlyle has treated it. All the worst faults of his style 
are found here, joined to a self-conceit that would 
not be tolerated in any other man. His familiarity 
with the German literature has very naturally affected 
his mode of expression. The German language is 
our own best Saxon inverted, and as one becomes ac- 
quainted with the deep and massive flow of its sen- 
tences, he unconsciously adapts his thoughts to their 
movement. Thus we imagine Carlyle's peculiarity of 
style originated ; and what has been termed affecta- 
tion, was the natural result of Germanizing a strong 
English mind. He has, however, nursed his oddities 
till they have grown into deformities, and in this 
work have reached, we trust, their full maturity. 
The quaintness of style we find in old Burton, Bun- 
yan, and many of the Puritan fathers, was natural 
to them — growing out of their great simplicity and 
honesty of heart, and hence we love it — but in Mr. 
Carlyle it is extravagance, premeditated oddity, and 
hence is affectation. Who can tolerate, for instance, 
such English as the following, which we find in the 
introductory chapter. Speaking of the confusion and 
chaos into which the historical events of Cromwell's 
time have been thrown, he says, "Behold here the 
final evanescence of formed human things ; they had 
form, but they are changing into sheer formlessness; 
ancient human speech itself has sunk into unintelli- 



32 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

gible maundering. This is the collapse — the etiola- 
tion of human features into mouldy, blank dissolution ; 
progress towards utter silence and disappearance ; 
disastrous, ever-deepening dusk of gods and men ! 
Why has the living ventured thither, down from the 
cheerful light, across the Lethe-swamps and Tartarean 
Phlegethons, onward to those baleful halls of Dis 
and the three-headed dog? Some destiny drives him." 
If the history of those times was written in such 
jargon as this, no wonder it " has sunk into unintelli- 
gible maundering." A thought has tumbled out with 
this cart-lord of words, no doubt, and well worth 
digging after ; but Carlyle has no right to put his 
readers to that trouble, when a straight-forward, good 
English sentence could so easily have expressed it. 

There are also expressions scattered along that 
have no place in English literature, and should be de- 
nounced at once, lest the support of a great name 
should give them permanence there. Mr. Carlyle 
tells us of a man who was "no great shakes in 
rhyme," speaks of "Torpedo Dilettantism," and en- 
deavors to make "Flunkey" and "Flunkeyism" 
classical words, and says that the Royalists shed 
tears enough at the death of Charles I. "to salt the 
whole herring fishery." He is constantly punning 
while treating on the gravest subjects — makes bon- 
mots as he goes along, and plays upon words as if his 
mind was divided between the thought and the oddity 
he would couple with it. 

But the greatest objection of manner in this work 
is the interjections and ejaculations with which he 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 33 

peppers all of Cromwell's speeches. In these grave 
and solemn addresses of the Protector to his parlia- 
ments, when England's welfare hung by a thread, 
Carlyle acts the part of a clown in the circus, keep- 
ing up a running commentary in a sort of half solilo- 
quy to his master's harangue — laughable at times, it 
must be confessed, but turning both into ridicule. 
The most serious words Cromwell ever uttered are 
interlarded with such phrases as, "Yes, your High- 
ness 4 " "Truly," "His Highness gets more em- 
phatic," "The same tailor metaphor again," "Looks 
over his shoulder in the jungle and bethinks him," 
" I did think my first Protectorate a successful kind 
of a thing," " Somewhat animated, your Highness," 
"Poor Oliver!" "Style getting hasty hot," "Bet- 
ter not, your Highness," " Threatening to blaze 
up again," " Ends in a kind of a snort." Some- 
times he throws in simply "ah?" "certainly," 
"truly," "ha?" "Yes, you said so, your High- 
ness." Sometimes he condemns Cromwell's English 
in such parentheses as the following : (" Sentence 
involving an incurable Irish bull; the head of it 
eating the tail of it,") ("Damnable iteration,") &c. 
Sometimes he caresses patronizingly the massive 
head of Oliver, as if he were a great English mastiff, 
saying, " Yes, my brave one," " Try it again, your 
Highness," " Keep hold of them, your Highness," 
"Very well, your Highness," "No, we are not 
exactly their darlings," "Wait till the axles get 
warm a little." 

These last sound to us very much like "Go it, 



34 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

your Highness !" " Stick to 'em, your Highness !" 
&c, and is more becoming the pit of a fourth-rate 
comic theatre than grave history. It is supremely 
disgusting, not only from the raillery it incorporates 
with such earnest, sincere language, but from the in- 
finite self-conceit it exhibits by its gross familiarities. 
Who but Mr. Carlye would presume to interrupt a 
man with such impertinent ejaculations ; now gently 
twitching "His Highness" by the coat tail, and now 
patting him on the head, as much as to say," "Ah! 
my good fellow, exactly; we think alike." Conceive 
of these phrases thrown into speeches addresssed to 
the Parliament of England, when England was rock- 
ing to and fro like a vessel in a storm, and you get 
some idea of the unblushing effrontery of their ap- 
pearance. Mr. Carlyle, perhaps, is not aware of the 
relative position he establishes between himself and 
Cromwell by this process. It sounds to the reader 
very much as if he were constantly saying, " Yes, 
yes ; I understand Oliver perfectly ; he is a brave 
fellow — a little prolix, it is true, and sometimes 
muddy, but I like him, nevertheless, and am deter- 
mined to help him through — he and I against the 
world." What we have said does not arise from pre- 
judice, for Carlyle has no greater admirer than our- 
self. We have been enriched by the treasures of his 
exhaustless mind — excited and instructed by his burn- 
ing thoughts, and borne away on those suggestions 
that leap from his brain, like sudden inspirations, and 
have reverently stood and listened as he spoke. Still, 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 35 

his greatness does not convert his faults into virtues, 
or render them less worthy of condemnation. 

Mr. Carlyle is alike above our praise or blame ; he 
has passed through the trial state, and now occupies 
a place in English literature where the stroke of even 
the English critic cannot harm him. But the higher 
his position, and the wider his influence, the more 
carefully should his errors be pointed out and shunned ; 
for," while few can imitate his great qualities, all men 
can appropriate his bad ones. 

We have one other objection to Mr. Carlyle's part 
of this work, which we have, also, to all his historical 
writings — he does not give us clearly the philosophy 
of history. His French Revolution conveys no de- 
finite idea of the connected course of the events he 
hurries us through. Huge summits rise out of the 
chaos, blazing with light, or equally visible from their 
blackness ; scenes start into life before us, vivid as a 
passing reality, and great pictures come and go in 
fearful procession on the vision — while the wizard, 
who is working all these wonders in our presence, is 
talking in the mean time in strains of sublime elo- 
quence, till the soul stands amazed at the thoughts 
that waken up equally strange thoughts within. 
Still, when it is all passed, the mind struggles in vain 
after the thread which connects them together. The 
principle that lay at the bottom of this movement is 
developed clearly enough ; but the causes which set 
that principle working, and kept it working so fear- 
fully, are invisible or dimly seen. So in this work — 
no one, by reading it, would get a definite idea of 



36 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

the English Revolution. Perhaps Mr. Carlyle, as he 
designs to write a history of that event, purposely 
omitted to give us a synopsis of it. But Oliver 
Cromwell is nothing without it. True, much of his 
life is taken up as an officer in the army; but the 
scattered threads of that Rebellion were finally 
gathered into his mighty hand, and he henceforth 
stands as the representative or rather the embodiment 
of it. But not only does he omit to give us a synop- 
sis of the Revolution itself, but states a palpable 
error. He more than once affirms that religion lay 
entirely at the bottom of it. Cromwell, doubtless, 
had very little idea of constitutional liberty, and a 
religious feeling was the groundwork of all his ac- 
tions; and Mr. Carlyle, being so deeply engrossed 
with his character, seems for the time to forget the 
events that preceded his appearance on the stage. 

The English Revolution was the natural product 
of the growth of civilization; and aimed, like the 
French Revolution, against three distinct things- 
absolute monarchy, a privileged aristocracy, and a 
haughty and grasping clergy. The little liberty 
which the fifteenth century shed on man had well- 
nigh gone out in the beginning of the seventeenth. 
On the continent, royalty had gradually subdued the 
proud nobility till it reigned supreme. In England, 
the feudal aristocracy had not been conquered, but 
had gone to sleep before the throne. Royalty no 
longer set checks on its encroachments, and it no 
longer interfered with royalty in its aggressionss on 
the liberties of the people. The clergy, too, blind 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 37 

and selfish, sought to retard rather than advance the 
human mind in its career. But the light of the Re- 
formation could not be put out. Tne impulse given 
to free inquiry could not be checked ; men dared to 
think and believe without the Church; and we see, 
even in the time of Elizabeth, the germs of the Rebel- 
lion. She, by the crown lands she had sold to coun- 
try gentlemen, to avoid asking for subsidies, had 
gradually passed large wealth into the hands of those 
who were to be the future members of the House of 
Commons ; so that, when Charles I. assembled Par- 
liament, in 1628, the Commons were twice as rich as 
the House of Lords. Commerce had also increased, 
and wealth was every day accumulating- in the hands 
of the common people. This must be secured, and 
checks erected to preserve it from the grasping hand 
of tyranny. 

The Parliament had no sooner assembled, than it 
began to search every department of government. 
Past and future subsidies came under its cognizance ; 
the state of religion, the repression of popery, and 
the protection of commerce. There were a host of 
complaints preferred, termed grievances, which the 
Parliament determined should be redressed. These 
being boldly presented to the king, he considered it 
an encroachment on his sovereignty-— an incipient 
step towards forcing him to submit to all their de- 
mands. As he, however, wanted i subsidies to carry 
on the war in Spain, he swallowed his vexation, and 
asked for money. 

A small subsidy was voted him, together w T ith the 

4 



38 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

custom duties for one year. The Lords refused 
to sanction this, as it had been the custom hereto- 
fore to vote these duties to a king during his reign. 
But the Commons, before they would grant more, de- 
manded a redress of their grievances. The king, 
indignant at this attempt, as he termed it, to compel 
him to act, thus encroaching on his sovereignty, dis- 
solved the Parliament, determined to govern without 
it. Succeeding but poorly, however, in his efforts 
to raise money by loans, he in February again as- 
sembled it. The first Parliament asked for redress 
of grievances ; the second immediately impeached the 
Duke of Buckingham, the king's favorite, as the 
author of their grievances. During the futile efforts 
to bring him to trial, Charles had two of the com- 
missioners, appointed by the House to support the im- 
peachment, arrested and locked up in the Tower for 
insolence of speech. The Commons, indignant at 
this encroachment upon their privileges, refused to do 
any thing till they were set at liberty, and the king 
yielded. Defeated and baffled on every side, he sum- 
marily dissolved this Parliament also. Determined 
to be an absolute sovereign, like the monarchs of 
Europe, he could not see the spirit that was abroad, 
and hence rushed blindly on his own ruin. A general 
loan was ordered ; the seaports and maritime districts 
commanded to furnish vessels; the first attempt at 
ship-money;) passive obedience was preached up by 
direction of the king ; those who refused to grant the 
money were thrown into prison ; the military were dis- 
tributed over the kingdom ; the courts of justice were 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 39 

overawed, and Charles I. seemed resolved to carry 
his doctrine of tyranny by one grand coup de main. 
But he only awakened indignation and hostility, and 
nursed the fire he expected to quench. In the mean 
time, defeat had attended the armies abroad, and 
money must be raised ; and another Parliament was 
called, (March 7, 1628,) and a tone of great concilia- 
tion adopted. But the friendly aspect with which it 
opened soon changed ; the Commons, intent on hav- 
ing their liberties secured, and the rights of English- 
men defined, drew up the famous " Petition of 
Rights." This was simply a bill to guarantee acknow- 
ledged liberties, and check acknowledged abuses ; but 
Charles thought his word was better than all guaran- 
ties, and refused, at first, to have any thing to do 
with it. 

After a stormy time in the House, the bill passed, 
and the king was compelled to sign it. But reform 
on paper began to be followed by demands for reform 
in practice ; and two remonstrances were drawn up, 
one against the Duke of Buckingham, and the other 
against having tonnage and poundage levied, except, 
like other taxes, by law. The king saw there was no 
end to this cry about grievances, and, losing all 
patience — in June, three months from the time of its 
assembling — prorogued Parliament. 

The second session of Parliament commenced in 
January of the next year. Grievances again ap- 
peared on the tapis, till the king could not endure the 
word. Reforms, both in religious and civil matters, 
were loudly demanded ; and, at length, the tonnage 



40 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

and poundage duties came up again. A second re- 
monstrance was about to be carried, when the Speaker 
informed the House that the king had ordered him 
not to put the motion, and rose to retire. " G-od's 
wounds" said the fierce Hollis, "you shall sit till it 
please the House to rise!" The king, hearing of the 
outbreak, sent the sergeant-at-arms to remove the 
mace, and thus arrest all business. But he, too, was 
kept firmly seated, and the doors of the House locked. 
A second messenger came to dissolve the Parliament, 
but could not gain admission. Boiling with rage, at 
being thus defied on his very throne, he called the 
captain of his guards, and ordered him to force the 
doors. But the vote had been carried, and the House 
of Commons declared to the world that the levying 
of tonnage and poundage " duties was illegal, and 
those guilty of high treason who should levy or even 
pay them." The Parliament was, of course, dissolved. 
It was a stormy session, and here Cromwell first ap- 
pears on the stage, making a fierce speech against a 
priest, whom he terms no better than a Papist. 

Charles — now fully resolved to govern alone — com- 
menced his arbitrary career by imprisoning some of 
the most daring leaders of the last Parliament. Then 
commenced a long succession of illegal acts to raise 
money — long-abolished imposts were re-established — - 
illegal fines levied and rights invaded. The courts 
were overawed, magistrates removed, and tyranny, 
unblushing and open, every where practised. The 
Church, too, came in for its share of power. It be- 
came concentrated in the hands of the bishops — the 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 41 

observance of the liturgy and cathedral rights were 
enforced, and Nonconformists turned out of their 
livings, and forbidden to preach, were sent wander- 
ing over the country. Persecution commenced — a 
system of espionage was carried on, and a petty tyran- 
ny practised by that incarnation of all meanness and 
villany, Laud. The Puritans began to leave in crowds 
for other more tolerant countries. The people were 
enraged — even the country nobility and wealthy gen- 
tlemen took fire at these accumulated wrongs, and all 
was ripe for an explosion. Men were put in the 
stocks for circulating pamphlets that denounced the 
injustice of the times, and their ears cropped off in 
presence of the people. But the elements were only 
more deeply stirred by every act of tyranny, and at 
length they seemed to reach their full height, when 
John Hampden, who had refused to pay the ship- 
money tax, and demanded a trial, was condemned. 

In the mean time, the attempt to force the English 
liturgy down the throats of the sturdy Scotch Cal- 
vinists had raised a whirlwind in Scotland, and the 
self-conceited Laud found he had run his hand into 
a hornet's nest. Edinburgh was in a blaze, and the 
excited crowds from every part came thronging 
through the streets — Highlander and Lowlander, noble 
and commoner, struck hands together, and old Scot- 
land stood up in her might, with her solemn " Cove- 
nant" in her hand, and swore to defend it to the last. 
The fiery cross went flashing along the glens, through 
the valleys, and over the mountains, and in six weeks, 

Scotland was ready to do battle for her rights. Poor 

4* 



42 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

Charles was frightened at the spirit he had raised, 
and strove to lay it ; but, failing in this, he marched 
his armies against the Covenanters. Imbecile, like 
all Stuarts, the invasion ended in smoke, and the 
baffled king called another Parliament in order to 
raise some money. It met, April 13, 1640. Charles 
had got along eleven years without a Parliament, 
but now was fairly driven to the wall. But during 
eleven years of dissolution, the Commons had not 
forgotten grievances, and when the king asked for 
supplies, he received in reply, " grievances." No- 
thing could be done with a Parliament that talked 
only of grievances, and in three weeks it was dis- 
solved. This was in May; in October, Parliament 
again met — the famous Long Parliament. Exaspe- 
rated at its dissolution — enraged at the falsehoods and 
tyranny of the king — perceiving, at last, that he, 
with his favorite the Earl of Strafford, was bent on 
breaking clown the Constitution of England — it met, 
with the stern purpose of taking the management of 
affairs in its own hands. The king saw, at a glance, 
that he had got to retreat or close in a mortal strug- 
gle with his Parliament. The respect they showed 
him at the opening speech, was cold, and even 
haughty. The proud determination that sat on their 
countenances awed even the monarch, and the fierce 
indignation that broke forth after his departure told 
his friends that a crisis had come. Every member 
had some petition from his constituents tc offer, and 
the eleven years of arbitrary rule that Charles had 
tried, and now was compelled to abandon, received a 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 43 

terrible review. Monopolies, ship-money, illegal ar- 
rests, the despotism of the bishops and the action of 
arbitrary courts, came up in rapid succession, each 
adding to the torrent of indignation that was about 
to roll on the throne. One of the first acts of this 
Parliament was to declare every member of their 
body who had taken part in any monopoly unfit to 
sit with them, and four were immediately excluded. 
This decision fell like a thunderbolt on the king and 
his party', and revived the hopes of the people. The 
Presbyterian preachers resumed their livings — sup- 
pressed pamphlets were again sent abroad on the 
wings of the wind — Church despotism dare not wag 
its head, and yet no legal steps had been taken to 
produce this change. The people felt that Parlia- 
ment was on their side, and took confidence in resist- 
ing oppression. Strafford was impeached and sent 
to the Tower, and the next blow fell on the heartless 
Archbishop Laud. Things began to look significant 
— the head of civil oppression and the leader of re- 
ligious despotism were struck within a short time of 
each other, and the character of the coming Revo- 
lution clearly pronounced. The next step was still 
more significant. A bill was carried, making it 
necessary that a Parliament should assemble at least 
once in three years, and should not be dissolved until 
fifty days after its meeting. The king, though filled 
with rage, was compelled to sanction it. No sooner 
was this done, than the Star Chamber, ecclesiastical 
court of high commission, and all the extraordinary 
tribunals which the king had erected were abolished, 



44 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

Last of all, Parliament declared that it had power 
alone to terminate its sittings. Thus tumbled down 
stone after stone of England's huge feudal structure, 
and such men as Hampden, Pym, and Hollis, began 
to look towards the abolishment of kingly power alto- 
gether. Religious matters also came up, and peti- 
tions were poured in demanding the entire abolition 
of episcopacy. The people had begun to think ; and 
the quarrel which commenced with Charles and 
his Parliament had been taken up by the people, and 
the struggle was between liberty and oppression in 
every department. 

In the mean time, Strafford's head rolled on the 
scaffold. This was in 1641. In August, the king 
visited Scotland, and devoutly attended Presbyterian 
churches — heard the long prayers and longer sermons 
of Presbyterian preachers with becoming gravity, and 
Parliament adjourned. In the fall, however, it as- 
sembled again, and a general remonstrance was 
drawn up, setting forth the grievances of the king- 
dom, and defining all the privileges that freedom 
demanded. Amid a storm of excitement it passed. 
Cromwell backed it with his stern and decided action. 
The king returned, and was again in collision with 
his Parliament. In the mean time, popular outbreaks 
commenced in London — the houses of bishops were 
in danger of being mobbed, and Charles found him- 
self on a wilder sea than he had ever dreamed of. 
The Parliament now began to reach out its hand 
after the control of the army, and there seemed no 
limit to the reforms proposed. 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 45 

The next year, 1642, five members of the House 
were suddenly accused of high treason for the pro- 
minent part they had taken in the affairs of the king- 
dom. The king sent his sergeant-at-arms to take 
them in custody : but the House would not give them 
up, and declared that consideration was required 
before such a breach of privilege could be allowed. 
The next day the king came with an armed force to 
arrest them. At the news, swords flashed in the Hall 
of Parliament, and brows knit in stern defiance. But 
better counsels prevailed, and the five members were 
hurried away, before Charles with his armed guard 
approached. The birds had flown, but the king made 
a speech, declaring that he expected the accused, as 
soon as they returned, would be sent to him, and 
departed. As he strode through the door, "Privi- 
lege ! privilege !" smote his ear. The next day the 
citizens rushed to arms, and all was in commotion ; 
and, as the king passed through the crowd, it was 
silent and cold, and a pamphlet was thrown into his 
carriage, headed, " To your tents, Israel." 

Here is the beginning of the war. The Parlia- 
ment found that it must surround itself with armed 
force for self-protection. And armed force begat 
armed force, till civil war broke out in all its fury. 
Hitherto Charles had professed great . affection and 
respect for the Parliament — made endless promises, 
and broke them, " on the word of a king." His du- 
plicity was no longer of avail. The mask was off — 
hostilities had commenced ; and though peace could 
be, and was, talked about, Parliament would never 



46 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

let power again rest in the hands of a monarch who 
seemed to have no moral sense respecting trnth and 
falsehood. The word of a London pickpocket could 
be relied on as soon as his. Besides, the leaders of 
Parliament now lived with a halter about their necks ; 
and let Charles once gain the power he formerly 
wielded, he would make summary work with them. 

With the departure of the king and the commence- 
ment of the civil war, Parliament proceeded to assume 
more and more power ; and though negotiations were 
still kept up, reformation had yielded to revolution, 
and the elements were unbound. The battle of 
Edgehill opened the tragedy, which, in its bloody per- 
formance, was to see the throne of England go down, 
and the head of its king roll on the scaffold. Crom- 
well now presents himself on the stage to some pur- 
pose, and there is little danger of his being lost sight 
of again. The years of 1642 and 1643 were eventful 
ones, for the sword of civil war was drinking blood 
on every side. At the end of 1643, the reformation 
was complete ; Parliament had done all it wished ; 
but things had gone too far to stop. The army had 
gradually acquired power, as it always does in war, 
and its leader was carried on towards the control of 
the kingdom. In 1648, Charles I. was executed, and 
kingship in England for the time ended. 

The progress of things during the civil wars we 
design to take up again with Cromwell. But in this 
condensed synopsis the career and separate steps of 
the Revolution may be traced out. First, Parliament 
wished to place some restrictions on arbitrary power 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 47 

— nothing more. The resistance and madness of 
Charles aroused indignation, and boldness and dis- 
cussion. The natural result was, clearer views of 
their own rights, and of the injustice of the king's 
arbitrary conduct. The king, instead of yielding with 
grace, multiplied his tyrannical acts, and incensed 
still more the Commons of* England. Not satisfied 
with pleasing the imbecile and driveling Laud, he 
undertook to fetter the consciences of the people, and 
force episcopacy down their throats. As if bent on 
his own ruin, he transferred, or rather extended, the 
quarrel from Parliament to every town in the land, 
and thus made the excitement and opposition univer- 
sal. Slight reforms were sought in the first place ; 
but the principles of justice, on which the demand for 
them was based, soon brought grievances to light 
whose removal would infringe on the sovereignty of 
the king. The king resisted, but the Commons stood 
firm; and, as soon as the people found they had a 
strong ally, they brought in their grievances on reli- 
gious matters. Broken promises, falsehoods, secret 
and open tyranny, practised every where by the king 
or bishops, rendered the breach between the monarch 
and his subjects wider — until at last royal bayonets 
gleamed around the Parliament. Assailed by physi- 
cal force, Parliament sought to protect itself by force 
also, and civil war took the place of discussion and 
remonstrance, and revolution succeeded reformation. 
There was nothing unnatural in this. The same re- 
sult will follow in every despotism of Europe, so soon 



48 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

as there can be a representation of the people bold 
enough to ask justice. 

For taking part in such a movement of the English 
people — fighting bravely for the English constitution 
and religious liberty, and finally bringing the Revo- 
lution to the only peaceful termination it could have 
had, Oliver Cromwell has been termed a regicide, a 
monster, and a tyrant. This work of Mr. Carlyle's 
puts the mark of falsehood on these accusations, and 
presents the man before us in his simple majesty and 
noble integrity. The speeches and letters of a man 
—both public and private — must reveal his character ; 
and, if there be any hypocrisy in him, it will appear. 
But here we have a hundred and sixty-seven letters, 
written in various periods of his life, to persons of 
every description — even to his wife and children and 
relatives — and yet no inconsistency in his character 
is seen. Those who term him a hypocrite, would do 
well to explain this fact. Before the idea of power 
had ever dawned on his mind, or he had ever dreamed 
a letter of his would be seen, except by his family, 
he utters the same religious sentiments, indulges in 
the same phrases which, repeated in public, bring 
down on him the charge of -cant, hypocrisy, and de- 
sign. These letters and speeches show him consistent 
throughout ; and Mr. Carlyle has for ever removed 
the obloquy that covered him, and given him that 
place in history which should have been granted long 
ago. The triumph is the more complete, from its 
being effected not by eulogies, but by the man's self, 
lifted up in his simplicity and grandeur before the 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 49 

world. No one can read this work without obtaining 
a clear and definite view of Cromwell he never can 
forget. Perhaps some of the very faults we have 
mentioned in it have rendered the picture more com- 
plete. Mr. Carlyle has given us Cromwell as he was, 
and as he will be received by future generations. We 
see him in every step of his progress ; there are the 
same massive features, and grave countenance, and 
serious air, with here and there indications of a vol- 
cano within. Whether wandering by the banks of 
the Ouse — gloomy and desponding, as he attempts to 
look into that mysterious eternity to which he is hast- 
ening — or riding all fierce and terrible amid his 
Ironsides through the smoke of battle — or with hat 
on his head standing on the floor of Parliament, and 
hurling defiance on all around — or praying in the 
midst of the midnight storm as life is receding — we 
still stand in his presence, live, move, speak with him. 
There is no English writer that equals Carlyle in this 
pictorial power — revealing rather than describing 
things, and bidding us look on them, rather than 
conceive them. 

Born in 1599, Cromwell was thirty-six years old 
when the first Parliament was convoked by Charles 
I. Unlike most distinguished characters, he entered 
on public life late, and was forty years of age before 
he took any part in the scenes in which he was after- 
wards to be the chief actor. His history is a forcible 
illustration of the effect of circumstances on a man's 
fortune. Had England remained quiet, Cromwell 

would have spent his energies in draining the fens on 

5 



50 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

his farm, and improving his estate, and died a good, 
straight forward English gentleman. But the field 
which the Revolution opened to him soon scattered his 
plans for the improvement of his lands to the wind, 
and the too thoughtful, too contemplative religionist, 
entered on a life of action that left his disordered 
fancy little time to people his brain with gloomy 
forms. 

Of Cromwell's early life very little is known; but 
Mr. Carlyle has doubtless given all that ever will be 
discovered, and traced his genealogy to the right 
source. Cromwell appears in the third Parliament 
of Charles, 1628-9, in which the famous Petition of 
Rights, before spoken of, was carried. He seems to 
have taken very little part in the stormy proceedings 
of the several parliaments, and during the first two 
years of the Long Parliament nothing is heard of 
him. He went home to his farm a few weeks at the 
adjournment of Parliament, during the king's visit to 
Scotland ; but is found in his place again when it is 
assembled. He witnessed the stormy debate on the 
" Grand Petition and Remonstrance," when the ex- 
citement waxed so high that members came near 
drawing their swords on each other ; and gazed — one 
may guess with what feelings — on King Charles, as 
he came with his armed force to seize the five mem- 
bers accused of high treason. The lessons he learned 
in these agitated scenes, like those which Bonaparte 
received from the tragedies of the French Revolution, 
were not forgotten by him in his after career. 

When the king and Parliament finally came into 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 51 

open collision, and both were struggling to raise an 
army, Cromwell's course for the first time becomes 
clearly pronounced. His arm is better than his tongue ; 
and, as Paliament has passed from words into action, 
he immediately takes a prominent position, which he 
ever after maintains. Charles is still regarded as 
King of England, and the Parliament has sent to 
him to know if he will grant them " power of militia," 
and accept the list of Lord Lieutenants which they 
had sent him. "No, by God," he answers, "not for 
an hour;" and so militia must be raised in some other 
way than through royal permission. 

This was in March, 1642 ; the next July we find 
Cromwell moving that the town of Cambridge be 
allowed to raise two companies of volunteers, and 
appoint captains over them, giving, himself, a hundred 
pounds towards the object. 

Here is high treason at the outset ; and, if the king 
shall conquer, loss of life and property will follow. 
But he has taken his course, and not all the kings in 
the world can turn him aside. The next month he 
has seized the magazine in the castle of Cambridge, 
and prevented the plate of the University from being 
carried off by the king's adherents. 

The same volunteer system was carried out in every 
shire of England favorable to the course of Parlia- 
ment. An army was organized, and the Earl of 
Essex was placed at its head. In the list of troops 
made out, with their officers, Cromwell's name was 
found as captain of troop sixty seven. His son was 
cornet in a troop of horse under Earl Bedford. The 



52 OLIVER CKOMWELL. 

battle of Edgehill was fought — the first appeal to 
arms— and Cromwell's sword was there first drawn 
for his country. The victory was doubtful, and both 
parties claimed it. The country was now fairly 
aroused, and associations were formed during the 
winter, in various counties, for mutual defence. 
Cromwell is found at the head of the "Eastern Asso- 
ciation," the only one that survived and flourished, 
and is riding hither and thither to collect troops and 
enforce order, and repel invasion. The hidden energy 
of the man begins to develop itself, and his amazing 
practical power to be felt. At the battle of Edgehill, 
he saw the terror the royal cavalry carried through 
the parliamentary horse, and he spoke to Hampden 
about it after the conflict was over, saying, " How 
can it be otherwise, when your horse are for the most 
part superannuated domestics, tapsters, and people 
of that sort, and theirs are the sons of gentlemen, 
men of quality. Do you think such vagabonds have 
soul enough to stand against men of resolution and 
honor ?" 

" You are right," replied Hampden ; " but what can 
be done?" 

" I can do something," said Cromwell; " and Iivill. 
I will raise men who have the fear of God before 
their eyes, and who will bring some conscience to 
what they do, and I promise you they shall not be 
beaten." 

It was in this winter's efforts that the nucleus of 
that famous body of horse to which he gave the name 
of Ironsides was formed. He selected for it religious 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 53 

men, who fought for conscience's sake, and not for 
pay or plunder ; and, while he enforced the most rigid 
discipline, he inflamed them with the highest religious 
enthusiasm. Fighting under the especial protection 
of heaven, and for God and religion, they would rush 
to battle as to a banquet, and embrace death with 
rapture. Here were Napoleon's famous cuirassiers of 
the Imperial Guard, under whose terrible charge the 
best infantry of the world went down. Borne up, 
however, by a higher sentiment than glory, they car- 
ried in their charge greater power, and this body of a 
thousand horse was never beaten. When, with the 
fearful war-cry, " Religion !" Cromwell hurled them 
on the foe, the tide of battle was always turned. 

Nothing shows the practical sagacity of Cromwell 
more than his introduction of the religious sentiment 
into the army. Bonaparte could not do this, and so 
he did the next best thing — instilled the love of glory. 
The former made religion popular in the army and 
in the kingdom, and his bulletins to Parliament were 
more like the letters of a clergyman to his presby- 
tery than the reports of a general to his government. 
Scripture phrases came into common use, and custom 
soon made proper and natural what now seems to us 
the mere cant of hypocrisy. It is not to be supposed 
that the solemn look, and nasal tone, and Bible lan- 
guage of the Puritans indicated, as a general thing, 
any piety. These things became the fashion— made 
common, it is true, by a strong religious feeling — 
and fashion could make the people of New York talk 
in the same strain. Cromwell had a deep religious 

5* 



54 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

feeling, and felt himself an instrument in the hands 
of God for the accomplishment of a great work. It 
is a little singular that all those great men who have 
effected sudden and unexpected changes in human 
affairs, have always regarded themselves as under the 
influence of a special destiny. If a heathen, he has 
been the favorite of the gods; if a Christian, like 
Cromwell, the mere agent of Supreme Power ; if an 
unbeliever, like Napoleon, under the influence of 
some star. 

These Ironsides were religious men, who could 
hold prayer-meetings in their tents, and sing psalms 
through their noses ; and he who would walk over 
the tented field at evening, and witness their praying- 
circles, and listen to their nasal chantings, might 
think himself in a Methodist camp-meeting, and curl 
his lip at the thought of their being warriors. But 
whoever saw them with their helmets on, and with 
their sabres shaking above their heads, and their 
flashing eyes bent in wrath on the enemy, sweeping 
like a thunder-cloud to battle, would ever after tread 
softly by their prayer-meetings, and listen to their 
psalms like one who hears music around the lip of a 
volcano. 

From this time, the Revolution became essentially a 
religious one, and the Parliament and the army were 
both Presbyterian. Its character did not change but 
once to the end, and that was when the Independents 
overcame the Presbyterians, and finally obtained the 
supreme control. The causes leading to both of these 
results were perfectly natural. After political re- 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 55 

forms, religious questions came up ; and the king and 
the Established Church banding together, it was na- 
tural they should go down together, and a different 
political and religious government be adopted. The 
former became a parliamentary government, and the 
latter a Presbyterian church. The religious charac- 
ter of this new church organization became still more 
clearly pronounced by the league which Parliament 
made with Scotland. Its help was sought in the 
effort to overthrow the king ; but Scotland would not 
grant it, unless Parliament would subscribe to the 
Scotch Covenant. This was done, and Cromwell's 
voice was heard swearing to the Covenant. But in 
revolution every irregularity develops itself, the re- 
straints are taken off from the mind, its old barriers 
are removed, and it is launched forth upon an un- 
known sea. When each one is allowed to think for 
himself, men are sure not think alike ; and there 
sprung up in England what is constantly seen here — 
numberless sects — each strenuous for its peculiar 
tenets. There were the Independents, who rejected 
the Scotch Covenant — demanded more freedom of^ 
belief — repudiated the Established Church organiza- 
tions, and asked for the same republicanism in the 
Church that had been introduced in the State : the 
Brownists, and Anabaptist, and Levelers (your 
thorough Jacobins and modern Radicals ) Fifth Mo- 
narchy Men (modern Millerites,) and many still un- 
settled in their belief. All these, the natural growth 
of a Revolution that had become religious in its cha- 
acter, gradually concentrated their strength against 



56 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

the Presbyterians ; and Cromwell himself taking sides 
with the Independents, the army was ranged on their 
side ; and in time the army, as it always must in a 
revolution, ruled any thing. 

From 1642, when the first battle of Edgehill was 
fought, to 1653, when Cromwell annihilated with 
his musketeers the fag end (the rump) of the Long 
Parliament, were eleven years of trouble and un- 
certainty. But, whether fighting with the Scots 
against the king, or beleaguering Edinburgh with his 
little army ; whether quelling insurrection in different 
parts of the kingdom, or bending his vast energies 
against his monarch in a pitched battle, Cromwell 
rises before us as the same determined, self-collected, 
and resolute man. Whether bowed in fasting and 
prayer before God, or trampling down the ranks of 
the enemy under the hoofs of his cavalry — whether 
lost in a strange enthusiasm over a psalm of David, 
or standing alone, the rock around which the waves 
of the Revolution finally calmed themselves to rest, 
or sunk in fruitless rage — he exhibits the same lofty 
purpose and steadfast heart. Dismayed by no ob- 
stacle, disheartened by no reverses, he leans in solemn 
faith on the arm of the God of battles and of truth. 
Without the feverish anxiety which belongs to ambi- 
tion, or the dread of defeat which accompanies love 
of glory, he is impelled onward by a feeling of duty, 
and loses himself in the noble cause for which he 
struggles. Acting under the eye of Heaven, with 
his thoughts fixed on that dread judgment where he 
must render up a faithful record of his deeds, he 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 57 

vacillates only when he doubts what is right, and 
fears only when a pure God rises before him. 

Nothing but lofty motives could have drawn him, 
at his age, in the career he followed. The fervor 
and enthusiasm of youth had fled, and he had reached 
an age when the call of ambition begins to sound 
faint and doubtful. A sober, religious farmer, he 
girded on the sword when forty-three years of age, 
and, taking his oldest son, who bore his name, entered 
the field where any thing but glory seemed to be the 
promised reward. That beloved son he saw fall be- 
fore the blow of the foeman ; and, though he had a 
wife and family to bind him to life, he seemed to be 
unconscious he had a life to lose. By his bold and 
decided action, his rapid movements, his rigid disci- 
pline, and boiling courage, he triumphed over the 
most overwhelming obstacles, performed prodigies of 
valor, and filled the world with the renown of his 
deeds — -and yet he refused all praise to himself, re- 
ferring every thing to the goodness of God. Yet 
there was no blind credulity in this reliance on Hea- 
ven, no sluggish dependence; for he strained every 
energy, and employed every means, as if all rested 
on himself. That he carried his ideas of special 
Providence too far, few of the present day will doubt. 
He thought the glorious era, when the Israelites 
marched behind the pillar of fire and of cloud, and 
were guided in every step by the direct interposition 
of Heaven, might be restored. No one who has 
studied Cromwell's character deeply, can doubt that 
he contemplated establishing a kind of Theocracy, in 



68 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

which tlie nation should be a pure church, and God 
its Head. His mind had got into this channel, and 
hence he was prevented from having those broad and 
expansive views of constitutional liberty which one is 
led to expect of him. That so thorough a political 
man should have nourished so visionary a theory 
seems strange enough; but the truth is, notwith- 
standing his stern, rugged, and unpoetic nature, 
Cromwell had a touch of superstition about him, 
which his matter-of-fact character and practical life 
could not remove. This did not turn him into a 
fanatic, or drive him into monkish habits or gloom, 
nor even fetter the free action of his mental powers ; 
it only gave them a religious direction. He did not 
possess what is commonly termed genius, though he 
had something very nearly akin to it. He never 
startled men by those sudden inspirations that some- 
times flash forth from the soul of genius like fore- 
shadowings of future events, yet he saw farther than 
the other great men of his time, and alone was capa- 
ble of conducting the Revolution to the goal it reached. 
As a military man, he showed no depth of combina- 
tion, adopted no new tactics of his own, and intro- 
duced no improvements in military science. 

Yet he beat the best generals of the kingdom, 
fought successfully against the most overwhelming 
numbers, and gained every battle he fought. It is 
idle to speak of such a man as a mere creature of cir- 
cumstances. Facts are better than theories — and the 
power Cromwell obtained, the success that attended 
every effort, and the steady hand with which he held 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 59 

all the raging elements of the Revolution in check, 
show him to have possessed a character of amazing 
strength, even though it exhibited no single extraor- 
dinary quality. Sudden and great success may at- 
tend a weak mind in certain favorable circumstances ; 
but, in a long, protracted, and complicated struggle, 
the strong man alone wins. The plebeian who, in 
England, under any circumstances, can bring success- 
ively to his feet, king, Parliament, and people — quietly 
and firmly seat himself down on the throne of the 
British empire, wield its vast destinies, control its 
amazing energies, and, after years of experience, die 
in peace and power, leaving a flourishing Common- 
wealth to his successor — must possess a grasp of 
thought and power seldom found in a single soul. 

There is no difficulty in analyzing the career of 
Cromwell. His life, divided into two parts, military 
and civil, is exhibited clear as noonday in these let- 
ters. He commenced his military career as captain 
of a troop, and gradually fought his way up to. com- 
mander-in-chief of the army. With a tenacity of 
will that nothing could shake, and courage that no- 
thing could resist ; simple and austere in his manners, 
given to no excesses, and claiming no share of the 
plunder ; he soon gained such influence over the sol- 
diers that they would follow him into any danger. 
In short, the success which attended all his efforts 
made him necessary to the army ; so that we find, 
after the self-denying ordinance was passed, by which 
members of Parliament are forbidden to hold com- 
mand in the army, Cromwell is retained by special 



60 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

permission month after month, till finally no one 
thinks of removing him. 

The battle of Edgehill was fought in 1642; the 
next year Cromwell was busy subduing the country, 
fighting bravely at Gainsborough and Winceby, kill- 
ing Cavendish at the former place. In 1644, the 
famous battle of Marston Moor took place. The 
king's army, of nearly 30,000 men, was utterly 
routed, and almost entirely by Cromwell and his 
Ironsides. The Scots fought bravely, and " delivered 
their fire with such constancy and swiftness, it was 
as if the whole air had become an element of fire in 
the summer gloaming there;" but Prince Rupert's 
cavalry rode down every thing in their passage, and 
the whole right wing of the Parliamentary army 
was routed. The royalists continued the pursuit, 
sabering down the fugitives, till, weary with the work 
of death, they returned to the victorious battle-field. 
But to their surprise, on coming up, they found 
Cromwell in possession of it with his brave Ironsides. 
Letting the routed army take care of itself, he fell 
with his cavalry on the enemy, riding straight through 
their divided ranks, -and sweeping the field like a hur- 
ricane. His allies, the Scotch cavalry, had all been 
dispersed, yet he and his Ironsides dashed on Prince 
Rupert's horse, that had hitherto never been beaten, 
and rode them down with terrible slaughter. 

The joy of the people was immense — the royalist 
cavalry had been broken for the first time : and Crom- 
well had clone it. 

The next year he is appointed commander-in-chief 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 61 

of the cavalry, and prostrates for ever the king's 
cause at the battle of Naseby. A few hours before 
it began, Cromwell arrived on the field, and the wel- 
come the army gave him shows with what enthusiasm 
he was loved by the soldiers. As they saw him ride 
along their lines, they sent up a universal shout like 
the cry of " Vive l'Empereur," with which the French 
army was wont to greet the appearance of Napoleon. 
Many a deed of personal prowess had been performed, 
and many an exhibition of high chivalric courage 
made, before his presence could send such exultation 
through the army. 

Cromwell commanded the cavalry at the battle, 
and new confidence visited every heart as they saw 
the favorite child of victory casting his stern eye over 
the ranks of his Ironsides. It was on a cold January 
morning that the battle was fought, and the war-cry 
of the Puritans, that day, was, " God is with us ." It 
rolled along their lines in one majestic shout as they 
moved to the attack. The battle was the fiercest 
that had been fought. Prince Rupert, with his usual 
success, dashed down on the left wing of the Parlia- 
ment army, and overthrew it. Cromwell did the 
same thing on the right, and broke, the left wing of 
the royalists ; but Rupert followed after the fugitives, 
while Cromwell, leaving a small company to prevent 
those he had routed from rallying, retired to the field 
to finish the victory. Here, as at Marston Moor, he 
exhibited the perfect command he had over himself 
and his followers in the heat of battle. Carried away 
by no success — beguiled into no pursuit, he stopped 

6 



62 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

at the right point, and with wonderful self-possession 
and skill rallied his men, and poured them afresh on 
the dense masses of infantry. The severe discipline 
to which he subjected his soldiers, placed them at his 
control in the midst of the wildest confusion. This, 
doubtless, was one great cause of his success. 

This battle finished the king, and he tried to make 
peace with his Parliament. Cromwell, in the mean 
time, overrun England, subduing the towns that still 
adhered to the royal cause. Now scattering the club- 
men, and now storming Bristol, he marched from 
point to point with a celerity that astonished his 
enemies, and soon reduced the whole countrv. Civil 
war, then, for awhile ceased ; and from 1646 to 1648 
political and religious affairs were in inextricable con- 
fusion. Between the king and Parliament, and army, 
and Presbyterians, and Independents, every thing got 
reduced to chaos. In Parliament, the Presbyterians 
and Independents struggled against each other like 
the Girondists and Mountain in the French Conven- 
tion. The army was on the side of the Independ- 
ents, and hence the Presbyterians undertook to crush 
Cromwell. The king in the mean time rejoiced in 
the divisions, hoping by them to benefit himself. But 
Cromwell though frequently on the verge of ruin, 
maintained his position, nay, increased his power. 
The army, notwithstanding some defections, still 
clung to him. The confusion, however, into which it 
had fallen by tampering, now with the king, and now 
with the Parliament, has furnished us with a curious 
piece of history illustrative of those times. The 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 63 

officers, and among them Cromwell, seeing the divided 
state the army was in, and scarcely knowing which 
way to turn, concluded to call a prayer-meeting and 
pray over the subject. The prayer-meeting met at 
Windsor Castle, and the day was passed in fasting 
and supplication, but without bringing any answer 
from Heaven. It met again the next day, and ended 
with the same success. The third morning these 
stern warriors assembled for the last time to ask the 
Lord for his guidance. At length, according to Ad- 
jutant-Greneral Allen, light broke in upon their dark- 
ness, and the cause of their troubles was revealed. 
"Which," says the Adjutant-General, " we found to 
he those cursed carnal conferences ; our own conceited 
wisdom, fears, and want of faith had prompted us the 
year before to entertain with the king and his party." 
These honest-hearted men had hit the truth, without 
doubt. It was "those cursed carnal conferences" 
with the king, and nothing else, that had well-nigh 
ruined the cause of English liberty. But one would 
think that they might have stumbled on this plain 
fact without fasting and praying three days over it — 
especially Cromwell, we should suppose, might have 
understood it; for he well-nigh wrecked his vessel on 
that 'truthless monarch, whose fate it was to ruin all 
who attached themselves to his fortune. At all 
events, the "cursed carnal conferences" were broken 
up, and hence the three days of fasting and prayer 
had been well spent. 

A short time after, in the beginning of 1648, the 
second civil war broke out. Royalist Presbyterians 



64 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

% 

leaguing with Scotch Presbyterians, becoming alarmed 
at the disorders and dissensions that increased on 
every side, determined to place Charles, now a pri- 
soner, again on, the throne. The insurrection first 
showed itself in Wales, and thither Cromwell, glad 
to escape from the quarrels with Parliament, hastened 
with his army. Succeeding in restoring peace, he 
hurried to the North to meet the Scotch army that 
had invaded England, and utterly routed them at 
Preston. The next year he invaded Ireland, to quell 
the insurrection there. Previous to his Irish cam- 
paign, however, he sits in judgment on Charles Stu- 
art, and his name stands third in the list of those that 
signed his death-warrant. 

In 1650, he again invaded Scotland, which was still 
intent on placing the Stuart line on the throne ; and, 
after reducing it to subjection, returns to England, 
fights the battle of Worcester, and, after having sub- 
dued all his enemies, re-enters Parliament. Finding 
this rump of the Long Parliament to be utterly in- 
adequate to the wants of England, he breaks it up, 
as Bonaparte did the imbecile Directory, and passes 
the governing power into his own hands. 

During these years of toil and victory, Cromwell 
moves before us like some resistless power, crushing 
every thing that would stay its progress. Simple, 
austere, and decided, he maintains his ascendency 
over the army; and with the Psalms of David on his 
lips, and the sword of war in his hand, sweeps over 
his victorious battle-fields like some leader of the host 
of Israel. 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 65 

Like Bonaparte, never cast down by reverses, or 
dismayed by danger, he meets every crisis with the 
coolness and self-possession of a great mind. We 
love to contemplate him in those trying circumstances 
which test so terribly the strongest characters. 

Thus, at the battle of Dunbar, does he appear in 
the simplicity and grandeur of his character. There 
fortune, at last, seemed about to desert him. His 
little army of twelve thousand men was compelled to 
retire before the superior forces of the Scotch, and 
finally encamped on a small, barren tongue of land 
projecting out into the Frith of Forth. On this 
bleak and narrow peninsula, only a mile and a half 
wide, behold the white tents of Cromwell's army. In 
front of him, landward, is a desolate, impassable 
moor, with a low ridge of hills beyond, on which 
stands the Scotch army twenty-three thousand strong. 
At the base of these hills runs a small streamlet, 
furnishing only two passes over which an army can 
march. Cromwell's ships are in the offing, his now 
last remaining resource. The lion is at last caught, 
and the prey is deemed secure. 

On the 2d of September, Cromwell looks forth 
from the desolate heath, on which his army is drawn 
up in order of battle, and lo ! what a sight meets his 
gaze. Behind him is the sea, swept by a strong 
wind ; and before him, blocking him in from shore to 
shore, a chosen army, outnumbering his own two to 
one. The white tents that are sprinkled over this 
low peninsula, rock to and fro in the storm of sleet 
and hail, and darkness and gloom hang over the 

6* 



66 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

Puritan host. This strip of land is all that Cromwell 
has left him in Scotland, while a powerful enemy- 
stands ready to sweep him into the sea. But it is in 
such circumstances as these that his character shines 
out in its greatest splendor. Though his overthrow 
seems certain, he evinces no discouragement or fear, 
for "he was a strong man in the dark perils of war ; 
in the high places of the field, hope shone in him like 
a pillar of fire when it had gone out in all others." 
A letter he writes to the governor of Newcastle, on 
the eve of this battle, is so characteristic, and withal 
so sublime, that we give it entire : — 

To Sir Arthur Hazelrig, Governor of Newcastle ; these : 

Dear Sir : We are upon an engagement very difficult. The 
enemy hath blocked up our way at the Pass at Copperspath, 
through which we cannot get without a miracle. He lieth so 
upon the hills, that we know not how to come that way without 
great difficulty ; and our lying here daily consumeth our men, 
who fall sick beyond imagination. I perceive your forces are 
not in a capacity for present relief. Wherefore, whatever be- 
comes of us, it will be well for you to get what forces you can 
together ; and the South to help what they can. The business 
nearly concerneth all Good People. If your forces had been 
in readiness to have fallen on the back of Copperspath, it 
might have occasioned supplies to have come to us. But the 
only wise God knows what is best. All shall work for good. 
Our spirits are comfortable, praised be the Lord — though our 
present condition be as it is. And, indeed, we have much 
hope in the Lord; of whose mercy we have had large experi- 
ence. 

Indeed, do you get together what force you can against them. 
Send to friends in the South to help with more. Let H. Vane 
know what I write. / would not make it public, lest danger 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 67 

should accrue thereby. You know what use to make thereby. 
Let me hear from you. I rest your servant, 

Oliver Cromwell. 

Nobly said. Indeed, it will be a miracle if he es- 
capes ; yet, calm and self-sustained, he waits the issue. 
" Whatever becomes of him," he is still anxious for 
the cause for which he is struggling. Forgetting 
himself, in the nobleness of his great heart, he says ; 
" Let me fall in silence — let not the news of my dan- 
ger bring discouragement on our friends — God's will 
be done." 

At four o'clock that evening, as Cromwell was 
watching the enemy's movements, he saw that Lesley, 
the Scotch commander, was bringing down his whole 
army from the hill to the brook at its base, to be 
ready next day to commence this assault. 

In this movement, the quick eye of Cromwell de- 
tected an error, which, like Bonaparte, he determined 
to avail himself of. Lesley, in executing his manoeu- 
vre, had packed his main body into a narrow space, 
where it could not easily deploy, while the .entire 
right wing stretched out into the plain. Cromwell 
saw that if he could rout this wing, and roll it back 
in disorder on the unwieldy mass, before it could draw 
up in order of battle on the plain, victory would be 
sure. That night, therefore, his twelve thousand 
men were placed in battle array, with orders, as soon 
as the morning dawned, to fall on the enemy. All 
night long the drenched army stood, without a tent 
to cover them, in the cold storm, while the moan of 
the sea, as it rolled heavily on the shore, seemed 



68 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

chanting a requiem beforehand, for the dead that 
should cumber the field. But amid the shriek of the 
blast and the steady roar of the waves, the voice of 
prayer was heard along the lines ; and many a brave 
heart,*that before another night should beat no more, 
poured forth its earnest supplications to the God of 
battle. 

Towards morning the clouds broke away; and the 
moon shone dimly down on the silent host. With 
the first dawn, the trumpets sounded the charge — the 
artillery opened their fire ; while, louder than all, 
rings the shout, " The Lord of Hosts ! the Lord of 
Hosts!" as infantry and cavalry pour in one wild 
torrent together on the enemy. Over the brook and 
over the hostile ranks they go, trampling down the 
steady battalions like grass beneath their feet, and 
bearing three thousand souls to the next world in 
their fierce passage. In the midst of this terrible 
charge, on which Cromwell's eye rested with anxiety, 
the sun rose over the naked hills and sent his level 
beams athwart the struggling hosts. 

So did the sun rise on Napoleon at Austerlitz, as 
he stood and surveyed the field of battle, and the 
sublime expression burst from his lips, " Behold the 
Sun of Austerlitz!" But Cromwell, carried away 
by a higher sentiment than glory, gave vent to his 
emotions in sublimer language. As the blazing fire- 
ball rolled slowly into view and poured its light over 
the scene, he burst forth, " Let God arise, and let 
his enemies be scattered /" Ay, and they were scat- 
tered. The right wing, broken and disordered, was 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 69 

rolled in a confused mass upon the main body of the 
army — and the panic spreading, those twenty thou- 
sand men became a cloud of fugitives, sweeping hither 
and thither over the field. At the base of Doon 
Hill, on which the enemy had been encamped, Crom- 
well ordered a general halt, and while the horse could 
be rallied for the chase, sung the hundred and seven- 
teenth psalm. " Hundred and seventeenth psalm, at 
the foot of Doon Hill ; there we uplift it to the tune 
of Bangor, or -some still higher score, and roll it 
strong and great against the sky." As the mighty 
anthem died away on the field, the shout of battle 
was again heard, and the fierce cavalry drove amid 
the broken ranks, riding down the fugitives, and 
sabering them without mercy, till the ground was 
covered with the dead. 

But there is one stain upon Cromwell's character, 
which Carlyle has failed to remove — the barbarous 
manner in which he conducted the Irish campaign. 
Indeed, the way Carlyle has treated this whole sub- 
ject, has destroyed .all our confidence in him as an 
historian. He carries his hero-worship a little too 
far, when he not only refuses to condemn the bloody 
massacres of Cromwell in Ireland, but stigmatizes 
those who have some objections to this uncivilized 
mode of warfare, as " rose-water surgeons." The 
prejudice and cruelty that can make light of those 
atrocities, which to this day are remembered as the 
"Curse of Cromwell," render a man unfit to write 
history. We could unfold a tale of horror and cruelty 
■ — depict sufferings and cold-blooded massacres con- 



70 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

nected with this Irish war — which would make the 
stern face of Cromwell ever after appear streaked 
with blood. But his own letters shall condemn him. 

He made his first attack on the town of Drogheda, 
and put the entire garrison to the sword. In writing 
to the government an account of it, he says, after 
speaking of carrying the intrenchments, " Being thus 
entered, we refused them quarter, having the day be- 
fore summoned the town. I believe we put to the 
sword the whole number of the defendants. I do not 
think thirty of the whole number escaped with their 
lives. Those that did, are in safe custody for the 
Barbadoes" He winds up this precious declaration 
with, " I wish that all honest men may give the glory 
of this to God alone, to whom, indeed, the praise of 
this mercy belongs." What miserable cant this is 
to wind up a massacre with. The Lord, we opine, 
did not thank him for this compliment, and would 
much rather prefer "the unworthy instruments" 
should take all " the glory" to themselves. 

He marches on Wexford, and enacts the same 
murderous scene over again. He will not even grant 
an. armistice for a day, but sweeps over the walls of 
the town, putting all to the sword. The cry of help- 
less suffering, and the prayer for mercy, are of no 
avail. With Mexican ferocity he bids his men hew 
the defenceless wretches down without pity. And 
this Carlyle defends, by calling those who denounce 
it " rose-water surgeons" and the plan they would 
adopt "rose-water surgery." 

According to Cromwell's own letters, he opened 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 71 

his campaign by announcing the following conditions 
—those who surrender without fighting shall be treated 
as prisoners of war, but those who resist shall be 
refused quarter and slain without mercy. After the 
massacre of Drogheda and Wexford, he improved a 
little, it is true, on this Christian-like plan. He 
spared the soldiers, but put all the officers to the 
sword. A ray of justice flashed over him, and he 
bethought himself that it was hardly right to murder 
the soldiers for resisting, when acting under orders, 
and so he transferred his vengeance to the officers. 
Such an uncivilized mode of warfare has never been 
heard of, except among a barbarous people. The 
Irish were not rebels — -they were fighting for their 
legitimate king, and entitled to civilized treatment. 
What right had Cromwell to make them an exception 
to his ordinary mode of warfare ? Why did he not 
impose the same conditions on the English and Scotch 
towns that he invested? What if he had massacred 
the inhabitants of Bristol and Edinburgh because 
they put him to the trouble of storming them ? In 
what respect were they different from Drogheda and 
Wexford ? The simple truth is, his conduct of the 
Irish war was savage and ferocious — unworthy of a 
civilized man, much more of a Christian, and will 
rest a spot on his name to the end of time. In sack- 
ing cities, massacres will sometimes occur, when a 
long and bloody resistance has so exasperated the 
soldiers, that all discipline is lost. Thus, during the 
Peninsular war, in the time of Napoleon, in the 
sacking of Badajos and St. Sebastian by the English, 



72 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

and the storming of Oporto by the French, the in- 
habitants were massacred, but the officers took no 
part in it, nay, exposed their lives in endeavoring to 
arrest his violence. But here we have a Puritan 
commander, who prays before going to battle, sings 
psalms in the midst of the fight, and writes pastoral 
letters to Parliament — not permitting but ordering 
massacres to be committed ! 

Mr. Carlyle seems to think the plan an excellent 
one, inasmuch as it prevented the effusion of blood. 
Yes, but supposing Cromwell had not always been 
victorious, and the Irish had retaliated on him the 
bloody warfare he adopted, what kind of a campaign 
would this have been ? This " doing evil that good 
may come," and making " the end justify the means," 
is considered in our times rather doubtful morality. 

We have spoken as condemnatory of the conduct 
of CiDmwell towards the Irish, as if he had butchered 
the inhabitants in brutal ferocity or fiendish hate, 
because we wish not in any way to sanction the view 
which Carlyle takes. But though there can be no apo- 
logy for such a mode of warfare, there may be for the 
man. The character is indicated more by the motive 
than by the act. Now, we do not see the least incon- 
sistency in Cromwell's conduct from first to last. The 
very simplicity with which he gives his own account 
of the affair, shows that he imagines himself to be 
acting right. He makes no apology — offers no ex- 
cuses — throws in no palliation, but tells the naked 
facts as if it were impossible to doubt his sincerity. 
These barbarous massacres instead of furnishing any 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 73 

contradictions to his character, illustrate it. They 
prove clearly our first statements, that Cromwell was 
acting under a kind of hallucination, and conceived 
himself a special agent of God, to destroy his foes 
and establish his Church. He fought battles pre- 
cisely on the principles the Israelites did when 
they struggled to keep possession of the land of Ca- 
naan. The Old Testament was constantly in his 
mouth, and he killed men coolly as Joshua. The 
Scotch and English being Protestants, he regarded 
them as Judah might Dan or Manasseh in a civil 
war ; while the Irish Papists he considered as Ama- 
lekites or Moabites, which were to be destroyed as 
enemies of the Lord. 

If Cromwell had not been borne up by some such 
lofty sentiment as this, it is very doubtful whether he 
could have saved England from tyranny first, and 
from a war of factions afterwards. To such a 
man there is no wavering of purpose — no con- 
fusion of thought. The complicated -motives and 
fears which distract the mere political leader he knows 
nothing of. With one grand object in view, he passes 
steadily towards it — erring it may be in his means, 
but not in his motives. To make no allowance for 
the motives or impressions that guided Cromwell, and 
judge him by his acts alone, would be to condemn all 
the great warriors of the Old Testament as cut- 
throats. We have no doubt Cromwell considered 
himself as much commissioned by the Lord as ever 
David did. As he took no glory to himself from his 
victories, so he felt no blame in the slaughters that 

7 



74 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

preceded them. It was the work of the Lord, from 
first to last, and he gave him all the glory, never 
doubting that he took all the responsibility. But 
Cromwell had no right to this impression, for he had 
received no revelation from God. The warriors of 
Israel received their commission from heaven, through 
its own appointed medium ; and hence, their bloody 
wars were no more nor less than divine justice. But 
Cromwell received no such divine direction in his 
Irish massacres ; and to believe that he had, argues a 
want of moral sense and of the spirit of true religion, 
which mars very much the excellency of his character. 
Still it was an error of the intellect rather than of 
the heart, and sprung from that very belief without 
which he could not have saved England. 

We could wish to speak of the part he took in the 
condemnation of Charles, and defend him from the 
charge of injustice and cruelty which has been pre- 
ferred against him, but find we have not space. 

His dissolution of the Rump Parliament by physi- 
cal force, and assumption of the executive power of 
the kingdom, have been the basis on which a charge 
of ambition is attempted to be made out. But for 
nearly three years after England, Scotland, and Ire- 
land were subdued, and rested quiet under the Par- 
liament, the Parliament could not get along. The 
king was dead, and now who should rule — or rather, 
how should the Parliament rule. Endless suggestions 
— proposed and rejected bills — committees formed 
and disbanded — this was the history of the Rump 
Parliament, that evidently could not rule England. 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 75 

Every thing was quivering in the balance ; some wank 
ed a republic — some a sort of mixed government, 
that no one knew any thing about — some the restora- 
tion of the Stuarts. In this dilemma the army, now 
all-powerful, looked to Cromwell for help ; indeed, all 
England stretched her hands out to him for relief. 
He had saved it from outward foes, and now he was 
looked to as the complete deliverer from her internal 
feuds. Conference after conference was held with 
Parliament, and he struggled manfully to steady the 
tottering fabric of liberty he had helped rear with so 
much effort. At length a bill, settling the basis of a 
new representation, was brought forward, one clause 
of which made the Rump Parliament a part of the 
new. But Cromwell saw, with his far-reaching glance, 
that clean work must be made, and this war of fac- 
tions ended, or endless revolution would follow — and 
so he opposed the bill. On the day that it was ex- 
pected to pass, he, accompanied by some twenty or 
thirty of his musketeers whom he could trust, went 
to the House, and took his seat. After listening 
awhile to the discussion he arose to speak. Calm 
and respectful at first, he alluded to the great work 
that had been done, and gave them all honor for the 
part they had borne in it ; but waxing warm as he 
proceeded, he began to speak also of their injustice, 
delays, strifes, and petty ambitions- — hurling fiercely 
accusation after accusation in their faces, till a mem- 
ber rose and rebuked him for his language. " Come, 
come," broke forth Cromwell, a we have had enough 
of this. I will put an end to your prating." He 



76 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

had now fairly got on his battle-face, and his large 
eyes seemed to emit fire as he strode forth on to the 
floor of the House, and clapping his hat on his head 
and stamping the floor with his feet, poured forth a 
torrent of invective on the now thoroughly alarmed 
Parliament. That speech is lost, but it scathed like 
fire.- " You have sat here too long already," he ex- 
claimed: a you shall now give place to better men;" 
and turning to his officer, Harrison, he gave a brief 
word of command, as he would on the field of battle, 
and his brave musketeers with leveled bayonets 
marched sternly in. As he stood amid the bayonets 
that had so often surrounded him in the field of death, 
he began to launch his thunderbolts on the right hand 
and on the left, and breaking ever all ceremonies of 
speech, boldly named the crimes of which the mem- 
bers were guilty, and closed up with — " corrupt, un- 
just persons ; scandalous to the profession of the 
gospel. How can you be a Parliament for God's 
people. Depart, I say, and let us have done with 
you. In the name of God, go !" 

Thus ended the Rump Parliament, and England 
lay on Cromwell's shoulders. So did Bonaparte 
march into the Council of Five Hundred, with his 
brave grenadiers at his back. 

But no sooner was this summary dissolution of 
Parliament effected, than Cromwell was heard to say, 
" It's you who have forced me to this. I have sought 
the Lord, night and day, that he would rather slay 
me than put me upon the doing of this work." But 
it was done ; and when the first gust of passion had 



OLIVER CROMAVELL. 77 

passed, Cromwell was himself again, and took the 
government on his brave heart as calmly a§ if he 
were born a king. This assumption of power, and 
his after dissolutions of Parliament, when it would 
not act in accordance with his wishes, are called 
despotic and tyrannical acts, and so they were. But 
will any one tell us what else could have been done. 
To suppose that argument and reason would triumph, 
in that strife of factions and chaos of sentiments, is 
absurd. The truth is, England needed some strong 
hand to steady her, and Cromwell's alone could do it. 
Power was needed to over-awe the imbecile and am- 
bitious spirits that were too ignorant to rule, and too 
selfish to be united. Cromwell's measures were high- 
handed, but we cannot see what else could have been 
done, unless a Stuart had been called in. The peo- 
ple — the entire mind of the nation — wanted some- 
thing permanent around which it could settle. The 
Rump Parliament imparted no confidence, and gave 
no security. Cromwell was the only man in Eng- 
land that could keep the Revolution from going back- 
ward instead of forward. 

In great revolutions, the supreme power must final- 
ly always be lodged in the army, of which the suc- 
cessful leader is the representative. The strong arm 
of power is needed to mould the confused elements 
in form and permanent shape — discussion and con- 
ventions never can do it. True, Cromwell's cause 
was despotic, but the cause of freedom and the ends 
of justice demanded it. There is a difference between 

the despotic act that crushes liberty, and the ono 

7* 



78 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

that quells lawless violence. The forms of justice 
must„sometimes be disregarded to save its spirit. 

Of the five years of Cromwell's Protectorate, we 
shall say but little. He ruled England well, and 
showed a better title to reign than any Stuart that 
ever filled a throne. Mr. Carlyle has given us but 
little of these few years, except Cromwell's speeches. 
These are, for the most part, rambling, incoherent, and 
dull. They no not evince a single spark of genius, 
yet great practical common sense is visible through- 
out. Their incoherency of expression is owing, doubt- 
less, to their having been delivered extempore, and 
taken from his lips by reporters. It is evident, how- 
ever, that he wielded the sword better than the pen, 
and could, win two battles easier than he could make 
one good speech. 

England flourished under his sway, and his first 
measures indicated the leading trait of his character 
and the great object of his life. A commission was 
appointed to purify the Church of ungodly ministers, 
and religion received his first attention. Parliament 
was opened with prayer and a sermon, and Cromwell 
scarce made a speech without allusion to some Psalm 
of David. His feelings, during the Spanish war, and 
the fierce energy with which he took part with the 
persecuted Waldenses, show the religious sentiment 
strong to the last. 

In the revival of commerce — by his conquests in 
the "West Indies, and the triumph of his fleets every 
where — he established the maritime ascendency of 
England ; while in the administration of affairs at 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 79 

home, he exhibited a grasp of thought and a prac- 
tical power combined with an earnestness and purity 
of purpose, which England may in vain look for in 
any other sovereign. 

He sung psalms when he went into battle, and 
consulted the Bible in his campaigns as much as his 
maps, and quoted Scripture to Parliament — all of 
which may seem very weak in "our day, but they de- 
tracted nothing from the strength and majesty of 
Cromwell's character. A strong, sincere, and reli- 
gious man — a Christian of Moses' time, if we may 
use the term, rather than of ours — who read the Old 
Testament much, and the gospel little ; pondered the 
dispensation of law more than that of grace ; under- 
stood the lofty language of David better than the 
meek words of John ; loved the Commandments more 
than the Beatitudes ; a fierce fighter, a good ruler, 
and a stern patriot, was Oliver Cromwell. He is 
outliving his traducers, and will be honored by man 
long after thrones have been cast aside as useless 
things. 

Had he lived longer, so as to have consolidated his 
government, and seen most of his restless cotempo- 
raries safe under ground, or even left a son but half 
equal to himself, the destiny of England would have 
been different, and its after history, very possibly, 
that of a republic. 

But after five years of ceaseless anxiety — at war 
with his Parliament and surrounded by assassins — 
Cromwell, broken down by his efforts, at the age of 
fifty-nine rested from his labors. On his dying bed 



80 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

we hear the same phrases, the same sentiments, which, 
when uttered on the field of battle or in Parliament, 
have been called cant and hypocrisy. But did he, 
with his eyes fixed steadily on that dread eternity on 
whose threshold he stood, speak of the covenants of 
God, and pray in tones that made the listener trem- 
ble, to sustain his character to the last ? No ; his 
death-struggle and glorious departure in full hope of 
a blessed immortality stamp the insinuation as false. 

That was a solemn hour for England, and strong 
hearts were every where besieging Heaven to spare 
the Protector. But the King of kings had issued His 
decree, and the spirit that had toiled and endured so 
long was already gathering its pinions for eternity. 
"It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the 
living God ?" broke thrice from his pallid lips, and 
then he fell in solemn faith on the covenant of grace. 
Just before his death a fearful storm arose, and amid 
the darkness, and tempest, and uproar of the ele- 
ments, the dying Cromwell prayed. Bonaparte, dy- 
ing in the midst of the storm, shouted forth, " Tete 
d'armee" as his eye fell once more on his mighty 
columns, but Cromwell took a nobler departure. Not 
in the delirium of battle did his soul take its final 
leap, but with his gaze fixed steadfastly on the " Eter- 
nal kingdoms," he moved from the shore of Time 
and sunk from sight for ever. 

Carlyle has done Cromwell justice ; still, we do not 
think he has fully appreciated his character. How 
such a neologist and German religionist as he, could 
ever be brought to tolerate what is called " a cant- 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 81 

ing Puritan," is to us passing strange. To do it, he 
has had constantly to look at him through a false 
medium — to practise a sort of self-deception ; and we 
sometimes imagine we can see him shutting up his 
eyes, and resolutely launching forth into praise 
against his own convictions, when some expression of 
Cromwell crosses so abruptly his tastes and senti- 
ments. But he needed this dogged determination to 
see no fault in his hero, to balance his natural dislike 
to " Puritan cant," in order to give Cromwell fair 
measure. 

He has rendered history a service, and done a 
great man justice, in this work, which, we doubt not, 
will effect a permanent revolution in public opinion 
respecting the character of Oliver Cromwell. 



82 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 



CHAPTER III. 

THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

The horrors of the French Revolution stand out 
in such terrible relief in the history of that great 
event, that the mind is often unable to see any thing 
else, and the strong undercurrent is lost sight of. 
The whole Revolution is regarded as the lawless ac- 
tion of an excited mob, which having once grasped 
the power, hurled every thing into chaos with the in- 
coherency and madness of passion. The king, the 
aristocracy, and the clergy, are looked upon as silent 
sufferers, till borne under by this wild power which 
swept throne, crown, and titles into one bloody grave. 
We hear the tocsin sounded, the generate beat, and 
see the flying crowds with pikes and lances, swarm- 
ing around the royal palace, rending the air with 
shouts and curses, while human heads are rolled by 
hundreds into the gutters, and this we call " The 
Revolution." The waking up the human mind from 
the sleep of ages — the manner in which liberty grew 
step by step, till Europe shook on her feudal throne 
at the sudden daylight poured on her oppressions ; 
and the immutable law of retributive justice working 
amid all those mutations, hold but a secondary place 
in our contemplations. We forget also to place the 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 83 

blame of the acts of violence and atrocity where it 
ought to rest, not considering that the agents them- 
selves were not alone guilty, but those also who forced 
them by pride and tyranny to their execution. 

The number of histories written of the French Rev- 
olution are legion, and yet we do not remember one 
which escapes the charge of prejudice or incomplete- 
ness. Scott wrote of it with a blindness and reck- 
lessness of truth wholly unworthy of him.— Alison, 
with a love for the tragic and horrible, and hatred of 
republicanism, that sunk him below even Sir Walter 
Scott. The different memoirs given us by those who 
were actors amid its scenes, or those whose friends 
suffered in prison or under the guillotine, are necessa- 
rily colored by the feelings of the writers. Mignet 
is perhaps an exception to the great class of authors 
who have written of this period, but he is a specula- 
ting Frenchman, thinking more of his theories than 
of facts. Thiers' work is a fair offset to this whole 
class of histories. * The freezing details of crime and 
ferocity are left out, and he moves straight on through 
his narrative, with his one main object constantly in 
view, namely, the progress of the struggle. To him, 
the wholesale murders and massacres are accidents, 
while the history of the Revolution is a statement of 
its rise, progress, and termination. The causes lead- 
ing to each step, and its result in effecting political 
changes are the main thing — the disasters that accom- 
panied these steps, but secondary matters. He is a 
statesman, and very naturally contemplates every 
thing in a business-like spirit. He would follow the 



84 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

government, not the mob. Mr. Alison, on the con- 
trary, is a romancer, when he is not a ridiculous 
philosopher. The great objection to M. Thiers' work 
is, that were it the only one we possessed of that 
period, we should get no adequate idea of the hor- 
rors that were committed in the name of liberty. 
The matter of fact way he has of stating every thing, 
prevents us from being excited where we should be, 
and leaves us in darkness respecting many of the de- 
tails. His descriptive powers are evinced far more 
in sketching a spirited or riotous debate in the Assem- 
bly or National Convention, than in a guillotine scene. 
He is a cool-blooded man, whose feelings never run 
away with his judgment. 

The editor of the work supplies, by frequent notes, 
the details M. Thiers has omitted : and though they 
are badly arranged, often confusing the reader as he 
attempts to keep the thread of the narrative, yet we 
would not do without them. In his long preface, he 
declares the history to exhibit "the adroit, keen, 
clear-headed man of the world," while, at the same 
time, it is of " an animated, practical, and dramatic 
character." We rather suspect the word " dramatic" 
was put in to complete a full period, for it not only 
contradicts the former part of the sentence, but is 
untrue in every way. If one seeks & " dramatic" 
history, let him read Alison. Plain "practical" men 
of the world, who state things in a " business"-like 
way, are "not usually "dramatic." He says, also, 
that "it is to be regretted that an author so well 
versed in the annals of the country as M. Thiers, has 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 85 

not thought it worth his while to enter more into de- 
tail on the subject of the numerous secondary causes 
which helped to bring about the Revolution." Now 
we think it would a be regretted," had he taken that 
course. If any one wishes to be led blindfold down 
through the history of France, from the time of 
Clovis till the Revolution, let him read Mr. Alison. 
If M. Thiers possesses one merit above all others, it 
is the clearness of his narrative in tracing the great 
primary and continuing causes of the Revolution. 
We never read a history of that event which conveyed 
to us so plain and connected an account of the events 
that crowded so rapidly on each other in that awful 
drama. Under the smoke and tumult, that to an or- 
dinary observer reduces every thing to chaos, we are 
made to see clearly the groundwork and plan of the 
whole. We arise from the perusal of this history with 
entirely new views of the Revolution. Order is seen 
amid that disorder, and the steady workings of immu- 
table laws traced through all those wild mutations. 
Nay, we must confess we are compelled to think bet- 
ter of the authors of those atrocities that have for ever 
blackened the pages of human history. Danton, 
Robespierre, and even Barrere himself, are madmen 
and murderers, as much from circumstances as nature. 
In the tremendous struggle, of which they were a 
part, they found they must tread every thing clown in 
their path, or be themselves trodden under foot. 

Another great merit of this work is, that it gives 
us the philosophy of the history of the Revolution by 
the mere consecutiveness of the narrative, and not 

8 



86 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

by obtruding on us, every few pages, a long series of 
reflections. M. Thiers does not speculate, but puts 
facts together in such relations that we are forced to 
draw conclusions as we advance, and form our own 
philosophy, rather as spectators than listeners. The 
masterly manner in which he has performed this part 
of his work, proves him the true philosopher as well 
as statesman. Holding a firm reign on his imagina- 
tion and desire to speculate, he loses sight of himself, 
and moves through his history with his eye fixed 
steadily on the great controlling causes, lying at the 
bottom of that strange confusion and commingling of 
all good and bad human passions. And in doing 
this, he occupies, apparently, a neutral point of ob- 
servation, seeing the evils both of untamed democracy 
and unbending aristocracy. In this respect, the work 
is of incalculable advantage to the world; and, if 
rightly studied by the despots of Europe, will enable 
them to shun the sanguinary scenes of Paris in the 
revolutions to which they are inevitably tending. 

M. Thiers dashes bodly in medias res. We have 
to wait no longer prologue ; at once, he lifts the curtain 
over Louis XVI., and his distracted kingdom, and the 
first act promptly commences. There was no need of 
a long list of secondary causes to show us the state of 
France at this period. The feudal system had gone 
on improving on its oppressions till it had reached a 
point where human endurance ceases. The exchequer 
was embarrassed, the coffers empty, while the people 
could not be more heavily taxed. The nobility, in- 
stead of submitting to a tax like that laid by Sir 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 87 

Robert Peel upon the aristocracy of England in a 
similar emergency, steadily refused to relieve the dis- 
ordered state of the finances. There was a weight on 
the nation. The people had sunk under it till their 
faces were ground into the earth, and no more could 
be expected from them. The upper classes refused 
to sustain it, and hence a convulsion must follow. 
The following graphic picture by Thiers is sufficient 
to satisfy any mind of the necessity of a revolution : 
"The state of France, political and economical, was 
in truth intolerable. There was nothing but privi- 
leges belonging to individual classes, towns, provinces, 
and to trades themselves ; nothing but shackles upon 
the industry and genius of man. Civil, ecclesiastical, 
and military dignities were exclusively reserved for 
certain classes, and in those classes for certain indi- 
viduals. A man could not embrace a profession unless 
upon certain titles and certain pecuniary conditions. 
All was monopolized by a few hands, and the burdens 
bore upon a certain class. The nobility and clergy 
possessed nearly two-thirds of the landed property. 
The other third, belonging to the people, paid taxes 
to the king, a multitude of feudal dues to the nobility, 
the tithe to the clergy, and was, moreover, liable to 
the devastations of noble sportsmen, and their game. 
TheXtaxes on consumption weighed heavily on the 
great^mass, and consequently on the people. The 
mode in which they were levied was vexatious ; the 
gentry might be in arrears with impunity ; the people, 
on the other hand, ill-treated and imprisoned, were 
doomed to suffer in body in default of goods. It 



88 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

subject, therefore, by tbe sweat of the brow ; it de 
fended with his blood the upper classes of society, 
without being able to subsist itself. Justice, adminis- 
tered in some of the provinces by the gentry, in the 
royal jurisdictions by the magistrates, who purchased 
their offices, was slow, partial, always ruinous, and 
particularly atrocious in criminal causes. Individual 
liberty was violated by lettres de cachet, and the 
liberty of the press by royal censors." Added to all 
this, there came a hail-storm, cutting off the crops, 
so d * that the winter of 1788-89 brought with it uni- 
versal and intolerable suffering. Men and women, 
half naked, roamed over the country crying for bread. 
Famine stared the people in the face, while those 
they had enriched looked with a stony eye on their 
sufferings. The voice of despair rung through the 
kingdom, and still the infatuated nobility rioted in 
luxury. Slowly and darkly heaved the storm-cloud 
above the horizon, yet no one regarded its threaten- 
ing aspect till the lightning began to fall. The suc- 
cessive thunder-claps that followed, succeeded at 
length in arousing the imbecile monarch. 

These were causes sufficient ; and we need no long 
disquisitions on the feudal system, to teach us how the 
evils sprung up and increased till they could be no 
longer borne. This is the goal tyranny always reach- 
es, and it cannot be helped ; England reached it ; and 
but for the spectacle of France just rising from her 
sea of blood would have plunged into the same vor- 
tex. She chose reform rather than revolution, and 
it is still to be her choice till her feudel system dis- 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 89 

appears entirely. There is no help for this, and 
there can he none, under the economy of nature and 
the providence of God. If a few will appropriate 
and spend the substance of the land, the mass must 
suffer till despair hurls them on their oppressors. The 
court and nobility of France had become licentious as 
well as oppressive, and hence disgusting and imbecile, 
and quarreling among themselves. 

In the conflict between the Parliament, the clergy, 
and the throne, each called on the nation for aid, 
and thus enlightened it on the great principles of hu- 
man government ; and worse than all, respecting their 
own debaucheries and villanies. Mistresses of nobles 
decided great political questions, and bribes bought 
every man, from the king down to these masses. 
Trampled on, starving, and dying, a haughty aristo- 
cracy added insult to oppression, and treated with 
contempt the men they defrauded. Suffering makes 
a people think, and a starving man learns his rights 
fast. 

This was France ; while the low rumbling of the 
coming earthquake swelled prophetically around the 
throne. Added to all this, philosophers began to 
speculate on human rights ; and while they were busy 
with theories, the starving people thought how they 
might put them in practice. The sudden rising of a 
republic on this side of the water, and the Declaration 
of Independence made and sustained by a handful of 
freemen, fell like fire on the hearts of the suffering 
millions. The days of Greece and Eome were talked 

of by the philosophers and dreamers — the inalienable 

8* 



•*"*■• 



90 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

rights of man , by the people. Thus, every thing 
conspired to urge the nation towards a revolution. 
It must come in the shape of a complete and sudden 
reformation, almost equivalent to a revolution, or 
utter everthrow. The king and the court were at 
length roused, and began to look about them for re- 
lief from the pressing dangers and increasing clamor. 
The king tried successively through his ministers, 
Turget, Necker, Callone, and the Archbishop of Tou- 
louse, to relieve the pressure that was every day be- 
coming more alarming. There was but one remedy 
— to tax the nobility and the clergy. Their consent 
to this measure was at length wrung from them, and 
the people shouted their applause. But the promise 
was broken as soon as made, and anger was added to 
the former discontent. What next ? " The convo- 
cation of the States General!" was the cry. 

The king determined to assemble the tiers etat 
(third order) as his predecessors had done, in order 
to check the power of the nobility. But the day had 
gone by when the deputies from the tiers etat would 
assemble like the retainers of a feudal lord, as his 
summons to defend their master. Let the intelligent 
middle classes have a Parliament of their own, and 
they will, in the end, no more tolerate a king than a 
nobility. After much quarreling, both in court and 
in Parliament, respecting both the mode of electing, 
the number, and the powers of this tiers etat, it was 
decided that at least a thousand deputies should re- 
present France in the approaching convention, and 
that the number should equal that of the other two 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 91 

orders united. In the midst of national suffering, 
popular outbreaks, and inflamed passions, the election 
took place. These tiers etat comprehended all the 
useful and enlightened middling class ; and hence the 
deputies represented the real interests of the nation. 
The election is over, and from every quarter of 
France these deputies of the people are swarming to- 
wards Paris. At length they arrive, and the people 
now stand face to face with their monarch, and their 
aspect is like any thing but that of retainers. The 
parliaments and the court, both of which thought to 
win the majority oyer to their side, begin to suspect 
they have both miscalculated. The simple-minded 
Louis alone imagines his embarrassments are over. 
The States General is opened with solemn pomp. 
On the 4th of May, the king and the three orders 
repair in grand procession to Notre Dame. Princes, 
nobles, and prelates, clad in purple, and nodding with 
plumes are in advance. The deputies of the tiers 
etat, clothed in simple black cloaks, follow behind. 
The magnificent cathedral receives the imposing pro- 
cession, and strains of solemn music swell up through 
the lofty arches. The king — the nobility — the clergy, 
and the people's deputies are offering up their vows 
together, and the impressive scene awes every breast, 
and suffuses every eye. Enthusiasm lightens every 
countenance, and the sudden joy intoxicates the 
hearts of the multitude. 

The next day, May 5th, 1789, the king opened, in 
form, the States General. He was seated on an ele- 
vated throne with the queen beside him, and the 



92 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

court around him. On either side were arranged the 
nobility and clergy, while at the farther end of the 
hall, on low seats, sat the deputies from the tiers etat. 
Into the midst of this august assemblage, stalked a 
commanding form, that for an instant sent a thrill 
through every heart. He paused a moment, while 
his bushy black hair seemed to stand on end, and 
with his lip curled in scorn, surveyed with a piercing 
eye, the nobility to whose rank his birth entitled him, 
but who had excluded him from their company. 
Count Mirabeau strode across the hall, and took his 
seat with the despised deputies of the people. Burn- 
ing with collected passion, he patiently waits the day 
when he shall hurl defiance and terror into that 
haughty order. The next day is for business, and 
here commences the first great struggle between the 
people and their oppressors. The first thing to be 
clone before organizing, is the verification of the pow- 
ers of the members. The nobles and the clergy, un- 
willing' to mingle themselves up in common with ple- 
beians, declare that each order should constitute itself 
apart. The tiers etat required the verification to be 
in common, steadily refusing to take any step by 
which they should be regarded as a separate order. 
This States General was to be a common assembly, 
sitting on the welfare of France, or nothing at all. 
The clergy remained m one hall by themselves, hav- 
ing voted not to admit the tiers etat into an equal 
footing with themselves. The nobility had done the 
same thing, and sent to the deputies to constitute 
themselves apart, that the States General might pro- 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 93 

ceed to business. ' The deputies calmly but firmly re- 
fused. The nobility stormed and talked of dignity, 
and rank, and privileges, and rained insults on the 
people's representatives. The latter, firm in their 
resolution, bore all with a patience and moderation 
becoming their high ofiice. Day after day passed 
away in vain negotiation, each order refusing to yield 
their prerogatives. Twenty-two days had thus elap- 
sed, and the States General was not yet organized. 
The throne and the people looked on in silence to see 
what would come of this struggle. At length Mira- 
beau arose, and said it was time to do something for 
the public welfare. He proposed sending a deputa- 
tion to the clergy, to know at once if they would 
meet the Commons or not. The deputation was sent, 
and marching into the hall of the clergy, addressed 
them in the following startling language : " The 
gentlemen of the Commons invite the gentlemen of the 
clergy, in the name of the God op Peace, and 
for the national interest, to meet them in the hall of 
the Assembly, to consult upon the means of effecting 
the concord so necessary at this moment, for the pub- 
lie welfare." This solemn adjuration fell like a thun- 
derbolt in the midst of the clergy, and had the vote 
been taken on the spot, they would have acceded to 
the request. Time was asked and given. The king 
interfered, and some concessions were made. Still 
the inexorable deputies of the tiers etat would not 
yield on the question of verification ; for to yield once 
was to yield throughout, and become a mere cipher 
in the Assembly, and see money and power, hand in 



94 THIBKS 5 KEVOLUTION. 

hand, crushing down the state, as it hitherto had 
done. At this critical juncture, they took the bold 
resolution to seize a portion of the legislative power 
of the kingdom, and proceed to business. Mirabeau 
arose and said, "A month is past — it is time to take 
a decisive step — a deputy of Paris has an important 
communication to make — let us hear him." An im- 
portant communication, indeed, bold Mirabeau, and 
thou art at the bottom of it ! Having thus broken 
the ice", he introduced to the tribune the Abbe* Sieyes, 
who, after stating their true position, proposed to 
send a last invitation to the other orders to attend 
in the common hall. It was sent, and the reply was 
returned that they would consider of it. At length, 
on the 16th of June, having been waiting since the 
5th of May, the tiers etat solemnly resolved to con- 
stitute itself a legislative body, under the name of 
National Assembly. This was one o'clock in the 
morning, and it was discussed whether the National 
Assembly should proceed to its organization on the 
spot, or defer it till the next day. A few, wishing 
to check this rapid movement, arranged themselves 
into a party, and commenced the most furious excla- 
mations and outcries which drowned the voices of 
the speakers. Amid this tumult, one party called 
out to put the motion— the other to adjourn. Calm 
and unmoved amid the shouts and threats rained 
around him, the president — the firm, right-minded 
Bailly — sat, for more than an hour, " motionless and 
silent." The elements without corresponded to the 
uproar within, and amid the pauses of the tumult 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 95 

was heard the rush of the storm, as it shook the 
building that inclosed them, and swept in gusts up 
the hall in which they were assembled. It was a 
noble spectacle : the calm and fearless Bailly sitting 
unmoved amid the turbulence of passion, like a rock 
amid the waves. At length the brawlers, one by one, 
dropped away, and the vote was put, and the act of 
organization deferred till next day, when it was irre- 
vocably done, and France had a National Assembly 
ready to legislate for her welfare. The first act of 
this Assembly was to legalize the levy of taxes that 
had been already made by the government. The 
motive to this was twofold ; first, to show that it did 
not design to oppose the action of the administration ; 
second, to assert its newly assumed power. It then 
announced that it should immediately investigate the 
causes of the scarcity of provisions, and the public 
distress. This bold and decided act sent alarm 
through the court and higher orders. The nobility 
rallied around the throne, and implored it to "inter- 
fere for the protection of their rights and privileges. 
In the mean time the clergy, frightened into conces- 
sions, had voted to join the tiers etat on common 
ground in the National Assembly. All was now 
confusion. The court and nobility proposed ener- 
getic measures to the king. Necker, the minister, 
advised a middle course, which a wise king would 
have adopted, but which Louis did not. Day after 
day passed in distracted councils, till at length the 
22d of June was appointed for the royal sitting. In 
the mean time, the hall of the States General was 



96 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

closed by order of the king, and all the sittings ad- 
journed till the 22d of June. 

The National Assembly had constituted itself, and 
passed its first acts on the 19th, and then adjourned 
till the next day. Disobeying the king's order, the 
deputies assembled according to adjournment, and 
finding the hall shut in their faces, and the soldiers 
of the French guard stationed at the door, repaired 
tumultuously to the Tennis Court, within the dark, 
naked walls of which they assembled. There were 
no seats, and the members were compelled to stand 
and deliberate. An arm-chair was offered to the 
president, but he refused it, and stood with his com- 
panions. In the midst of the excitement without and 
within, a united oath was taken not to separate till a 
constitution was established, and placed on a firm 
basis. With hands outstretched towards the presi- 
dent, Bailly, they all repeated the solemn oath. It 
was heard outside the building by the breathless 
crowd, which eagerly waited the action of the. peo- 
ple's deputies, and then the shout Vive V Assemhlee ! 
Vive le Moil rent the air. 

This act carried new consternation into the ranks 
of the nobility, who, now alarmed, sought to make 
common cause with the king. At length, the royal 
sitting, which was adjourned till the 23d, took place. 
The king and the higher orders took possession of 
the hall, and, in supercilious pride, ordered that the 
deputies should enter by a side door, to indicate their 
inferior rank. Without noticing the insult, they 
proceeded to the appointed entrance, where they 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 9f 

were kept waiting a long time in the rain, knocking 
for admittance. At length the foolish, misguided 
monarch deigned to let the representatives of the 
people enter and take such seats as they could find 
vacant. He then commenced his address, made up 
of invectives, insults, threats, and the most foolish 
and absurd declarations; Instead of conciliating, he 
exasperated; and, instead of yielding, maintained 
over again all the feudal rights, and seemed to think 
the mere force of words could lay the conflict at once, 
and send the deputies, like whipped schoolboys, back 
to their obedience and humility. Lastly, he annulled 
all the acts of the tiers etat, in their capacity of 
National Assembly, and commanded them to sepa- 
rate again into their original elements. He then 
strode out of the hall, followed by the nobility and 
part of the clergy. The majority of the ecclesiasti- 
cal deputies, and all those of the Commons, remained 
behind, buried in profound silence. Not a sound 
broke the stillness that succeeded the king's depart- 
ure. Each seemed to feel they had approached a 
crisis from which there was no retreating. At length 
Mirabeau arose, and by his bold and determined 
manner, inspired confidence and resolution. The 
grand master of ceremonies, returning at that mo- 
ment, said to the president, " You have heard the 
orders of the king V\ " Yes," replied Bailly, in his 
quiet, respectful manner, " and I am now going to 
take those of the Assembly." a Yes, sir!" thun- 
dered in Mirabeau, "we have heard the intentions 
that have been suggested, and go and tell your mas- 

9 



98 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

ter that we are here by the power of the people, and 
that nothing but the power of bayonets shall drive 
us away !" 

The Assembly continued its sitting, and, in addi- 
tion to re-affirming its former resolutions, and in order 
to save itself from violence, passed an act decreeing 
the inviolability of the person of every deputy. 

This was the first Revolution in France, and gene- 
rated all the rest. Here let us pause a moment, and 
inquire who are the guilty persons in this first act of 
the great drama that has just opened. The working 
classes of France and the inferior orders had borne 
all the burdens of the state, together with those of a 
corrupt court and aristocracy, till human endurance 
could go no farther, and famine stared them in the 
face. The government and privileged classes had 
wrung out from them the last farthing to squander 
on their lusts, and national bankruptcy threatened 
to swell the amount of evil that already cursed the 
land. In the mean time, the court and parliaments 
were quarreling about their respective rights and 
powers. In the midst of the agitations, popular out- 
breaks began to exhibit themselves in various parts 
of the country. As a last resource, it was resolved 
to convoke the States General. But, scarcely had 
the Commons of the people assembled, before insults 
were heaped on them because they refused to be 
faithless to the trust a suffering people had commit- 
ted to them. Overlooking the great object of the 
nation's welfare, the higher orders wasted a whole 
month in fighting for the privileges of rank. An 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 99 

empty exchequer, a starving population, and a dis- 
tracted kingdom, were small evils compared to min- 
gling with plebeians, on common ground, to consult 
for the common good. 

For the sake of a mere shadow — to gratify per- 
sonal pride, and uphold the purity of noble blood — 
they were willing to sacrifice a whole kingdom, and 
persisted in their blind folly till they opened a breach 
between themselves and the people which never 
could be closed till filled up with their own dead 
bodies. All the forbearance and all the justice in 
this first Revolution were on the side of the people ; 
all the insult and exasperation and injustice, on the 
side of the crown and aristocracy. The Commons 
were respectful and moderate, asking only for their 
rights — the nobility contemptuous and headlong, ask- 
ing only for their own privileges : patriotism, and a 
stern sense of justice characterized the one— supreme 
selfishness, pride, and tyranny the other. Thus far, 
the agitations and distress rest not on democracy, 
but on despotism. 

At length the nobility, after exhausting threats 
and plots, were compelled to join the National As- 
sembly. It can be easily imagined what spirit they 
brought into its counsels, and that nothing could be 
done for the welfare of the nation while such violent 
animosity ruled the factions. The first thing pro- 
posed by the Assembly was the formation of a consti- 
tution for France, defining the powers and obligations 
of the different departments of government, and the 
rights and privileges of the people. This was no 



100 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

easy thing, but the very attempt shows the rapid 
strides the nation was taking towards liberty. For 
centuries, the people had suffered their feudal lords 
to think for them, and rule without contradiction or 
inquiry. Now, all at once, they had discovered that 
he who sows the bread and reaps it has a right to 
eat it, and he who supports the government ought to 
have a voice in its management. In this juncture, 
while tjie Assembly was expending all its energies in 
self-defence, and hence could give no attention to 
the state of the country, an armed force began to as- 
semble in Paris. The report soon reached the depu- 
ties at Versailles, and it was whispered about that 
the bayonet was to be employed in effecting what 
the royal authority and the overbearing action of the 
higher orders had been unable to do, namely, the dis- 
solution of the National Assembly. Let it be remem- 
bered, this was the first conspiracy in which resort 
was had to arms. But the people could conspire as 
well as the aristocracy, and since the latter had had 
the madness to bring bayonets into the conflict, they 
could not complain if they were found in other hands 
besides the soldiers of the guard. Thus we see, that 
the first legislative revolution in France was brought 
about by the folly and injustice of the aristocracy, 
and the first appeal to arms was also made by them 
in their conflict with the people. It will be well to 
remember this, when we hear the wild Oa ira sung 
by the fierce multitude in the midst of massacre and 
blood. 

The troops occupied Paris, while the indignant 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 101 

and excited populace swarmed hither and thither, 
scarce knowing what it did. Consternation reigned 
in the Assembly at Versailles, and every thing seemed 
on the brink of ruin from the excitement caused by 
the parading of soldiers through the streets of the 
capital. But true to itself and true to the nation, 
the Assembly rose above fear and passion, and passed 
a resolution requesting the king to withdraw the 
troops and establish the civic guard, and charging on 
him and his counsellors the guilt of all the blood and 
distress that would follow if he refused. The Assem- 
bly declared itself permanent, and appointed Lafay- 
ette its Vice President. The night of the 13th and 
14th of July passed in fear and dread, for it was 
known that the next night was the one appointed for 
an attack by the troops on the Assembly, and the 
dispersion of the deputies. Towards evening of the 
fatal night a silent terror reigned in the Assembly, 
yet still not a member stirred from his seat. Each 
one was determined to fall at his post. The booming 
of cannon came at intervals on the ear, shaking the 
hall where they sat, telling of scenes of violence and 
blood at Paris. The Prince de Lembse'e was seen 
spurring by, on a wild gallop, to the king. Twilight 
deepend over the hall, giving a still more sombre 
hue to the countenances of the deputies. Another 
deputation had been sent to the king, and all waited 
with anxiety the answer. At this moment, two elec- 
tors, riding in hot haste from Paris, were announced 
to the Assembly. A solemn and prophetic silence 
filled the room. Not a voice broke the stillness that 

9* 



102 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

was more awful than solitude. Darkness covered the 
Assembly, that sat like statues, waiting the issue. 
Those electors came stalking through the gloom, 
while every footfall was distinctly heard, as they 
slowly marched up the hall. Their report was brief, 
but full of terror. The people were in arms, blood 
had been shed, and the Bastile was attacked. In 
Paris, all day long, previous to the night appointed 
by the higher orders for the attack on the city and 
the National Assembly, fierce cries had rung from 
the multitude, till " To the Bastile !" drowned all 
other voices, and the living stream poured round the 
gloomy walls of that stronghold of tyranny. It fell ; 
and at midnight the news reached the Assembly. 
Their danger was over — the people had triumphed — ■ 
and the plot laid against their liberty had been sprung 
upon its authors. The king was astonished, and his 
counsellors overwhelmed, at this exhibition of bold- 
ness by the people. A reconciliation was the conse- 
quence ; the orders were amalgamated in the National 
Assembly, and legislation at length began to take 
place. 

But during the three months the higher orders had 
been attempting to trample on, fetter, then destroy 
the deputies of the people, nothing had been done to 
relieve the distress of the country. Suffering had 
not remained stationary because the National Assem- 
bly had. There was a scarcity of provisions in the 
capital and in the provinces. Men and women wan- 
dered about for bread ; and the evils that might have 
been checked if met sooner, were now almost past 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 103 

remedy. The utmost efforts of the government could 
not supply the demand. Fear reigned on every side, 
and even the adored Lafayette, now at the head of 
the National Guard, could not always prevent the 
violence of the people. Foulon had said the people 
might eat hay — the people, in return, had seized him, 
put a " collar of nettles round his neck, a bunch of 
thistles in his hand, and a truss of hay on his back," 
and then hung him at a lamp-post. His head was 
carried on a pike through the streets. The first pub- 
lic execution pointed significantly to the cause of the 
evils, and the course the Revolution would take. At 
this point first begins the division in the National 
Assembly. 

The popular party having acquired the power, be- 
gan to disagree among themselves. The more con- 
servative part, fearing the results of these rapid strides 
to liberty, thought it was time to stop. The other 
part looked upon the reformation as just begun. But 
something must be done immediately, to relieve the 
deplorable state of France. Money must be raised, 
and bread furnished ; but from whence ? The lower 
orders had been taxed to the utmost, and the money 
raised all squandered by the court and aristocracy. 
Funds must now come from the higher orders or no- 
where. Driven to this crisis, the representatives of 
the people made the first attack on the property and 
incomes of the clergy and the privileges of the no- 
bility. The writers of this period have usually been 
subjects of a monarchial government, and hence have 
burst forth into exclamations of horror at this bold 



104 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

encroachment of democracy, as it is called. But will 
they tell us what else could have been done ? We will 
not entrench ourselves here on the principle of right, 
and declare what is true, that strict justice required 
the higher orders to impoverish themselves to relieve 
the country. They had not only lived for centuries in 
luxury at the expense of the poor man's table, and in 
sloth by the poor man's sweat, but had made him also 
support the government at home and abroad, till re- 
duced to famine, he had no longer any thing to give 
to supply the imperious, and every hour more press- 
ing demands of the state. In every emergency, he 
had been called on and forced to administer relief. 
But now there was no longer any thing to force, while 
a more pressing emergency than had ever before oc- 
curred called loudly for aid. Something must be 
done at once, and strict justice required that the 
upper classes should disgorge their ill-gotten wealth to 
save the state — to render back for the common good 
a part of that they had so long used for their own 
pleasure. But there was something stronger than 
justice here — necessity. The people could not starve, 
and money must be had. The higher orders must 
furnish it, or precipitate a national bankruptcy. But 
the struggle and delay expected to accompany any 
action of the Assembly on this subject seemed, to the 
inexpressible joy of all, suddenly overcome by the 
voluntary surrender, by each order, of its privilege. 
The 9th of August had been spent in discussing the 
famous Declaration of Rights to be placed at the head 
of the Constitution. In the evening, the question of 



THIERS' REVOLUTION, 105 

the popular disturbances, and the means to allay 
them came up. The Viscount de Noailles and the 
Duke d'Anguillon both ascended the tribune, and 
with a clear-sightedness and justice that, had they 
been possessed by the rest of the nobility, would have 
saved the nation, declared that it was foolish to at- 
tempt to force the people into tranquillity, that the 
best method was to remove the cause of the disturb- 
ances ; they proposed to abolish at once all those 
feudal rights which irritated and oppressed the coun- 
try people. Following them, a landholder took the 
tribune, and gave a graphic and fearful picture of the 
effect of the feudal system in the country. A sudden 
enthusiasm seized the Assembly, and one after another 
rushed forward to renounce his privileges. Each 
was eager to anticipate and rival the other in the 
sacrifice he made ; and amid the general excitement, 
the relation of serf, the seignorial jurisdictions, the 
game laws, and the redemption of tithes, and sale of 
offices, were all abolished. Equality of taxes, and 
the admission of all citizens to civil and military em- 
ployments, and the suppression of privileges of the 
towns and provinces, were decreed amid the most 
unbounded joy. A Te Deum was proclaimed, and 
Louis was to be entitled the Restorer of French 
liberty. But every thing had been passed in a gene- 
ral form, and when the separate points came up for 
discussion, the higher orders repented their sudden 
concessions, and began to struggle again for their old 
privileges, thus destroying the gratitude they had 
awakened. But it was too late— the minds of the 



106 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

deputies had become enlightened, and the feudal sys- 
tem, with all its power to plunder and oppress, was 
abolished. But this also came too late ; for the act 
could not at once bring bread to the million starving 
mouths, or allay the madness of want. France was 
rocking to the smothered fires that had been kindling 
into strength for ages, and the shriek for bread was 
more awful than the thunder of hostile cannon ; still 
the state was not beyond redemption, were the spirit 
of feudalism dead. But after the form was slain, the 
soul lived, and exhibited itself in plots and resistance, 
that kept the people fighting for liberty when they 
should have been seeking for food. The discussion 
of the Constitution that followed was needed, but flour 
was still more needed. Men felt for their plundered 
rights, but they felt still deeper for their empty sto- 
machs. Added to this, the people of Paris took a 
deep interest in the debates on the Constitution which 
was to fix the amount of personal freedom. At length 
the Constitution was ready, and waited, with the bold 
Declaration of Bights at its head, the signature of 
the king. He vacillated and delayed, but the people 
were rapidly becoming firm on one point — relief. 

From May till October, had the National represen- 
tatives struggled to save France. Met at every turn 
by the court and aristocracy, surrounded with obsta- 
cles their enemies had constantly thrown in their 
path, and compelled to spend months on the plainest 
principles of human liberty and justice, they had 
been utterly unable to relieve the public distress. 
For this they were not to blame ; but the selfish, blind, 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 107 

higher orders. Every thing had been compelled to 
wait but famine. That had never wavered nor fal- 
tered ; but, with ever-increasing proportions and 
frightful mien, had stalked over the land, turning 
women into tigers, and men into fiends. Suddenly, 
there is a strange and confused uproar on the road 
from Paris to Versailles. An army of women is on 
the march for the king's palace. All efforts to dis- 
band them have been powerless. Armed with pikes, 
hatchets, and sticks pointed with iron, they have 
marched on foot through the drenching rain, measur- 
ing the weary leagues with aching limbs, and at length 
stream around the magnificent palace of Versailles. 
Wild faces look out from disheveled hair, and hag- 
gard features, more fearful than the swaying pikes, 
move amid this confusion of sexes and hurricane of 
passion. With eyes upturned to where their mon- 
arch dwells, they suddenly shriek out, in wild concord 
— "Bread!" God in heaven! what a cry from 
women to their king ! Regardless of the falling rain 
and approaching night, and their toilsome journey, 
those strange faces are still turned to him who alone 
can relieve their distress. At length, twelve are 
conducted, as deputies, into the presence of the king. 
One, young and beautiful, overwhelmed at her own 
boldness, in thus approaching her monarch, could 
only faintly utter the word "bread" Here was woe, 
here was suffering, sufficient to bring tears from 
stones. 

What distress had been borne, what torture en- 
dured, before this multitude could thus unsex them- 



108 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

selves and string their feelings to this desperate tone. 
In the midst of the tumult, the Assembly send the 
Constitution to the king, praying his acceptance. It 
was given, and the announcement was made to the 
crowd of women to appease their rage. "Will it 
give us bread?" they inquired. "Yes," says Mou- 
nier, and they retired. Bread was ordered to be 
distributed, but was not ; and the famished multitude 
wandered about, searching in vain for means to alle- 
viate their hunger, till at length they came upon a 
dead horse, and began, in savage ferocity, to tear out 
his entrails, and devour his flesh. Tumult is again 
abroad, and shots are fired from the palace on the 
crowd, which rush in return up the marble steps, and 
stream through the royal apartments, demanding 
blood. But the adored Lafayette is seen moving 
amid the multitude, and the storm is stayed, and the 
king is saved. The next morning, the shout, " To 
Paris!" was heard, and Louis was compelled, with 
his family, to take this wild escort to the capital. 
The tiger was changed into the fiend. The excite- 
ment of the day before — the hunger and murder of 
the night, and the strange spectacle of the morning 
had completely unsettled what little reason the rabble 
had left, and the procession they form for the king — ■ 
their furious shouts and bacchanal songs, and dis- 
orderly movement, as they carry a gory head aloft 
on a pike, making it nod and bow to the multitude 
in grim salutation, are enough to appal the stoutest 
heart. Kingship is ended — reverence is gone, and 
all after-respect and loyalty will be but the spasmodic 



THIERS REVOLUTION. 109 

flame of the dying lamp. Vive le roil Vile la na- 
tion ! Vive Lafayette ! are alike incoherent and trust- 
less. The nobility, heretofore so blind, begin at 
length to see more clearly, and flock in crowds from 
France. Having helped to bring the king into this 
inextricable peril, they leave him to fight it out alone, 
and hereafter the combat is to be between the court 
and the people. 

Thus far are we able still to fix the guilt. A ban- 
quet which the body-guard had given, and at which 
the queen was present, had exasperated the famish- 
ing people by its luxury and wastefulness. The 
rumors of the intended flight of the king had also 
filled them with consternation ; for civil war and all 
its horrors hung over their heads, while famine turned 
their fears into ferocity. These things, and these 
alone, drove Paris on Versailles, scattered the no- 
bility in affright, and forced the king and Assembly 
to the capital, into the very midst of the. popular ex- 
citement. The appropriation of the property of the 
clergy at this time, by the Assembly for the use of 
the state, exasperated still more all the higher, orders 
against the popular movement, and began that strug- 
gle which ended in national atheism. 

The future course of the Revolution from this point, 
must be plain to every calm thinker. The popular 
party possessing the power, must move on till a 
republic is established. One extreme must succeed 
another. The rate of progress, and the degree of 
violence, must depend on collateral causes. Such 
commotions as now shook Paris, must bring strange 

10 



110 THIEKS' REVOLUTION. 

and powerful beings to the surface. The pressure of 
an artificial system was removed, and the untamed 
spirit was allowed to go forth in its strength, aroused 
and excited by the new field opened to its untried 
powers. From amid the chaos, are dimly seen the 
forms of Robespierre, Marat, Danton, Camille, Des- 
moulins, and others, who as yet dream not of the fate 
before them. Robespierre has been underrated by 
some, and too highly extolled as a man of intellect 
by others. He was one of those the Revolution de- 
veloped. At the outset, ignorant and narrow-minded, 
and impelled onward only by a low ambition, he was 
educated into a shrewd politician — a clear-headed 
reasoner, and a really powerful man amid popular 
assemblies. Marat was a cold-blooded villain, who 
acquired power among intelligent men, by terror 
alone. Danton was ambitious and patriotic at first, 
afterwards ferocious ; but when he saw to what issue 
the republic he had hoped to establish was tending, 
he became disgusted, and attempted to retire from 
the scene. But these men and their like represent 
a class which, in the dominance of the popular party, 
obtain power by forming a radical party. Among 
the clubs, that at this time were organized in Paris, 
the Jacobin Club was the most powerful, and gradu- 
ally swallowed up all the rest, and was the cause of 
the unparalleled atrocities of the French Revolution. 
How much Mirabeau could have done, had he lived, 
after he saw the chaotic tendency of things, and went 
over to royalty, and openly declared war against the 
violence and mobocracy of the more popular party, 



-THIERS' REVOLUTION. Ill 

it is not easy to say. With his profound knowledge 
of the human heart — his thrilling eloquence and un- 
daunted firmness, he might have overwhelmed such 
men as Robespierre ; and with his powerful arm on 
the throne, steadied his overthrow, if not prevented 
the fall. He was no democrat, and never dreamed 
of establishing a republic in France. His attacks 
on monarchy and the nobility, were prompted more 
by personal feeling than patriotism. Still, he was 
a strong man, and the party which possessed him had 
a legion on their side. -Yet we doubt whether he 
could have done much beside such an imbecile king 
as Louis. He would have striven for a while with 
his impetuous courage, to force him to some decision 
and firmness, and when he found it all of no avail, 
and all his measures defeated by childlike vacillation, 
he would have left him to his fate, and retired in dis- 
gust from his country. 

During the period that intervened between the 
movement of the mob on Versailles, and the dethrone- 
ment of Louis, the Assembly continued to act with 
vigor, and prosecute the reforms so loudly called for 
in the state. There were also spasmodic exhibitions 
of returning loyalty by the people. The anniversary 
of the overthrow of the Bastile was an exhibition of 
popular enthusiasm unparalleled in the history of the 
world ; and when, in the vast amphitheatre erected 
in the Champs de Mars, those three hundred thou- 
sand French people on the one hand, and the king 
with the queen in the background, holding the royal 
heir in her arms on the other, swore under the open 



112 THIERS' REVOLUTION.. 

heavens together, to render faithful adherence to the 
Constitution decreed by the National Assembly, the 
conflicts and miseries of France seemed ended. But 
the general joy that followed was only of few days' 
duration. The quarrels with the ministry, that must 
be inefficient from the circumstances in which it was 
placed, and the party spirit of the different factions, 
and the ambition of separate leaders, soon brought 
back all the agitation that had only been suspended, 
not removed. Besides, in taking away the privileges 
of the nobility and clergy, and restricting the power 
of the king, the popular party had gained enough, 
and the king and higher orders lost enough to render 
them implacable enemies for ever, and there could 
be no peace till one or the other was entirely crushed, 
and removed beyond fear. But the popular party 
was in the ascendency, and the principles it promul- 
gated soon found way into every part of the kingdom, 
and finally penetrated the army. Bouille' might carry 
a few devoted hearts in the army with him, but the 
die was cast, and royalty must disappear. Most of 
the nobility had anticipated this, and emigrated. 
Louis at last also saw it, and fled. Arrested and 
brought back to Paris, he was afterward the mere 
shadow of power, and his doom hastened to its fulfil- 
ment. The spirit of liberty, which first exhibited 
itself in the tiers etat in the refusal to verify but in 
common with the higher orders, and afterwards in the 
Declaration of Rights and the Constitution, in the 
abolishment of the feudal system — in the power given 
to the lower orders — in the disrespect and afterwards 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 113 

contempt of the king, now took a bolder stand, and 
shouted "no king." 

The closing up of the Constituent, or, in other 
words, National Assembly, which had now been in 
session three years, produced a momentary change in 
the state of affairs. By a motion of Robespierre, a 
resolution was passed, prohibiting the re-election to 
the new Assembly of any member of the old one. 
This resolution was introduced through pique, but its 
passage had a serious effect on France. The deputies 
that had watched the progress of events for three 
years, and understood more perfectly than fresh dele- 
gates could be supposed to understand, the nature 
and wants of the new government were thus kept out 
of the national councils. A new set of men com- 
posed the new Legislative Assembly, whose election, 
many of them, had been influenced by the various 
clubs, that were mere branches of those at Paris. 
That miserable article in the Constitution making the 
Assembly to consist of one chamber only, also in- 
creased the difficulty. This heterogeneous mass were 
brought into one body, and amid the tumults of the 
capital, the frenzy of faction, and violence of passion, 
were compelled to legislate for the state. Constitu- 
tionalists, who were conservatives in politics — enthu- 
siastic republicans, who dreamed of restoring the 
palmy days of Greece and Rome — radicals, who 
thought only of retributive justice to aristocrats, and 
a middle indifferent class, were thus thrown together 
to split into two great parties, as patriotism, passion, 
or interest might lead. The result was, the old As- 

10* 



114 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

4 

sembly was completely reversed. In that, the consti- 
tutionalists occupied the left side, and the privileged 
orders the right. In the new, there was no party of 
the higher orders, and the constitutionalists, or the 
more conservative party, became the right, and the 
enthusiasts and radicals the left side. The deputies 
from La Gironde were the ablest men among this 
motley class, and soon drew around them a large 
party, which were called Girondins. Condorcet as a 
writer, and Vergniaud as an orator stood at the head 
of these. The radicals, seated on the highest benches 
in the hall, were called the Mountain. The Jacobin 
Club, with the others which, under the old Assembly, 
only agitated, ruled under the new. At its head 
stood Robespierre. 

The Legislative Assembly, sitting in Paris, did not 
commence its labors under very favorable auspices, 
and the veto placed by the king on measures adopted 
against the clergy, who were stirring up a civil war, 
together with the plotting of the emigrants in favor 
of royalty, opened and widened the breach between 
him and his subjects. The thousand acts and suspi- 
cions that must occur, when parties occupy this hostile 
attitude, increased the irritation, and brought down, 
fresh insults on the king. The pressure of every 
thing was towards a republic during the winter and 
spring until the 20th of June, when a fresh outbreak 
in 'Paris exhibited, by its contempt of the king, and 
the insults heaped upon him, to what a mere shadow 
his power was reduced. A mob of 30,000 persons 
came streaming into the Assembly, bearing before 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 115 

them the Declaration of Eights, and above their heads 
on a pike, a calf's heart, with this inscription, " Heart 
of an Aristocrat." Moving from thence around the 
Tuileries, they insulted the king, and finally pene- 
trated into his apartments. It needed then but one 
word to turn that palace into a place of massacre. 
Lafayette, the brave, the spotless Lafayette, when 
he heard of this disgraceful scene, hastened from his 
post at the head of the army, to Paris, to interpose 
the shield of his person before that of the king. 

Here, every one who has watched the progress of 
the Assembly, will say that a republic is inevitable. 
The writers of this period, educated under a monarchi- 
cal government, pause at the point where a republic 
becomes certain, and date from that moment the hor- 
rors of the Revolution. That a nation of oppressed 
and ignorant men cannot pass at once from slavery 
to independence without violence, and perhaps blood- 
shed, no thinking man will doubt. But that the 
wholesale murders and massacres, the scenes of fero- 
city and fiendish cruelty that characterized the Revo- 
lution, were a necessary part of this transition state, 
we unhesitatingly deny. On the contrary, we charge 
on Louis XVI. himself the horrors of the Reign of 
Terror. The soft feelings of his womanish heart are 
no excuse for his violation of duty. Too weak to 
rule the turbulent spirits around him, unable to with- 
stand the tumult he should have quelled, and unfit, 
in every way, for the perilous position in which he 
was placed, he should have confessed it, and resigned, 
long before, his crown and his throne. What had 



116 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

royal prerogative, and pride of blood and family, and 
dignity of a king, to do with the salvation of a realm ? 
He deserved death, not for the charges preferred 
against him, but his weakness in refusing to resign 
Jiis power, while he would not uphold the laws. Re- 
sisting, where he ought not to have resisted, the 
righteous decrees of the Assembly — and yielding in 
the only place where he ought not to have yielded, 
when the mob assailed his authority and his person, 
we lose all respect for his kindness in utter contempt 
of his character as a king. "We say he is chargeable 
with the atrocities of the Reign of Terror, for similar 
scenes will occur in any city where the executors of 
the law manifest equal vacillation and imbecility. 
Had those whose duty it was to maintain the laws m 
the late riots of Philadelphia followed the example of 
Louis XVI., we should have had the scenes of Paris 
over again. Emboldened by impunity, and made 
ferocious by blood, mob would have striven with mob, 
in the absence of law, and the length and fierceness 
of the struggle would have depended on the compara- 
tive strength of the conflicting parties. Had any of 
the mobs which, for the last few years, have arisen 
in London, Birmingham, or Bristol, been suffered to 
insult, and pillage, and trample on the constituted 
authorities with the same impunity that the Parisian 
mobs were allowed to, we should have had similar 
acts of violence; and had this lawless power been 
suffered to increase and consolidate, it would have 
imitated the bloody ferocity of the Jacobins. The 
transient violence of sudden outbreaks is easily quelled. 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 117 

It is only when the mob power is suffered to become 
legislative, that we have such legislation as Robe- 
spierre, Marat, Barre're, and Couthon gave France. 
The Jacobin Club was this consolidated mob-power, 
and it grew up and strengthened under the very eye 
of the king. He had not even the excuse of igno- 
rance where ignorance would have been crime, for 
his best friends told him of it; and not only told him, 
but begged the privilege of crushing it at once. He 
not only refused to command the removal of this 
curse of France, but rejected the earnest entreaty of 
Lafayette to be permitted to do it on his own respon- 
sibility. We are told that Louis could not bear to 
shoot down his subjects, and chose rather to suffer 
indignity and personal loss, than shed the blood of 
others. We have not the least objection to this choice, 
if he were the only person concerned in it ; but he 
knew that this Jacobin power aimed at the overthrow 
of every thing stable and just. He could not help 
knowing it ; for their doctrines and determination 
were both made public. Besides, warning after warn- 
ing, of no doubtful significance, had reached his ears. 
The only apology made for Louis here by his friends, 
is his kindness of heart. Instead of his being an 
excuse in such circumstances, it is a crime deserving 
of death. The commander of a nation's army might 
refuse battle under the same plea, and thus ruin the 
nation that trusted him. The mayor of New York 
might plead the tenderness of ^feelings for refusing 
to employ force against society, whose avowed pur- 
pose was to overturn the city government, and spoil 



118 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

the inhabitants. This extreme sensibility on the part 
of the executive authority is worse than none at all. 
It is a crime for which a man should be held respon- 
sible, as much as for cowardice in battle. There are 
sins of omission as well as commission, and while the 
mob stands charged with the latter, Louis XVI. has a 
heavy account to render for the former. 

His want of boldness on the 20th of June, during 
the last riot to which we referred, ought to have lost 
him his power for ever ; and c he would have been un- 
worthy of pity had he fallen then on the marble floor 
of his own palace, trodden down by the infuriated 
populace. This was not an insurrection of women 
asking for bread, but of lawless men hating authority. 
One destined to play a fearful part afterwards in the 
history of Europe, saw the imbecility of the king at 
a glance, and could not retain his indignation. 
Coming out of a cafe, he observed the mob streaming 
towards Versailles : "Let us follow that rabble," said 
young Bonaparte to Bourienne. When he beheld 
the insults of the mob, as they spread themselves 
through the royal apartments, his anger knew no 
bounds ; and when, at length, he saw the meek Louis 
present himself at the window, with a red cap on his 
head, put there in obedience to the miserable sans 
culotte, he could restrain himself no longer, and ex- 
claimed, " What madness ! how could they allow these 
scoundrels to enter ? They ought to have blown four 
or five hundred of them into the air with cannon. 
The rest would then have taken to their heels." But 
Louis, who would struggle long and tenaciously with 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 119 

the National Assembly for a mere prerogative, would 
let the butchers, scavengers, and outlaws of his king- 
dom spit on him. Bonaparte had occasion to try his 
principles afterwards, and saved the Convention, when 
half the weakness the king had shown would have 
left it to the mercy of Jacobinical fury. Lafayette, 
who had come from the army to arrest this spirit of 
violence, which threatened to overtop all authority, 
was supported by the National Assembly in his bold 
denunciations of the scenes on the 20th, and, thus 
sustained, went to the king and offered himself for 
his protection. The besotted Louis rejected the offer. 
Lafayette, intent on saving his country, resolved to 
take on himself the responsibility of dispersing the 
Jacobins. But, unsupported by the king, he could 
get but few to aid him. The Jacobins, however, 
hearing of his designs, were seized with .a sudden fear, 
and abandoned their Club. Had the king then put 
the National Guard under his control, he would have 
crushed this viper in its nest, and saved France from 
the sea of blood in which she afterwards sunk, and 
from which she eventually so slowly and painfully 
lifted her head. Lafayette remained a few days 
longer in Paris, and then set out for the army. From 
that time on, we see not where France could have 
been saved. The factions had, in reality, assumed 
the power, and order and law were soon to be at an 
end. This last act of the king destroys our remain- 
ing sympathy, and we see that he deserves to die for 
his weakness, and we almost wonder how Lafayette 
could, as he afterwards did, make another effort to 



120 THIEES' REVOLUTION. 

save his life. JBut this too was rendered futile through 
the infatuation of Louis, and he must hereafter go 
stumbling on to the scaffold. 

The approach of hostile armies on France at this 
juncture aroused and alarmed all parties, and accu- 
sations were not wanting, that the king was impli- 
cated in these attacks on revolutionary France. The 
19th of July, 1792, the anniversary of the Federa- 
tion in the Champ de Mars arrived, and a last feeble 
attempt was made to keep the appearance of friend- 
ship between the king and the people. They assem- 
bled as before, but not with the joy and hope of that 
first great day. The farce could not be kept up, and 
though the celebration passed off without violence, 
and Vive le Roi again smote the ear of the king, it 
was easy to see that another eruption was at hand, 
destined to sweep royalty, even with its shadow of 
power, completely away. A new conspiracy was set 
on foot by the Jacobins, having for its object the de- 
thronement of the king. The insurrectional commit- 
tee of their club issued orders, as if it composed the 
municipal authority of Paris. The Assembly could 
do nothing, for Jacobinical influence was there also, 
and all waited with anxious fear the 10th of August, 
the day fixed for the insurrection. It came, and with 
it the overthrow of the throne. The king fled in 
alarm to the National Assembly — the Tuileries ran 
blood, and amid the storm and terror of that day, the 
Bourbon dynasty closed. The executive power of 
France had disappeared to reappear instantaneously 
in the Commune of Paris, under control of the clubs, 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 121 

with the Jacobins at their head. The Assembly im- 
mediately decreed the dethronement of the king — a 
plan of education for the prince royal — and the con- 
vocation of a national convention. This recognition 
of the prince royal, shows how confined and unsettled 
men's minds were on the future course of the Revolu- 
tion, and how difficult it is to eradicate all regard for 
that power which has for so long a time been the ob- 
ject of reverence. At the dethronement of Louis 
there were really but two authorities in Paris — the 
legislative in that of the Assembly, and the municipal 
in that of the Commune. 

The first thing to be done, was the creation of some 
substitute for the executive power. The ministers, 
chosen at once, were appointed to represent royalty. 
But the people were still in uproar ; and, like the vexed 
ocean, surged up round the Assembly, now the throne 
had gone down, demanding the destruction of royalty. 
The Assembly had voted for suspension, the clubs for 
dethronement — and the people were ruled by the 
clubs. The hatred of the poor against the rich, and 
all tho^e low passions which turn the lower classes 
into savages, had been fed by those clubs, till they 
were ready to be led any where to commit any deed. 

How rapidly such wild power works. In one day 
the king had been dethroned — three of his dismissed 
ministers reinstated, and exercising royal authority. 
The royal family were prisoners at the Feuillans — 
Danton, from the member of a second-rate club, was 
minister of justice. Marat, the infamous Marat, was 
parading Paris, at the head of the brigand Marseil- 

11 



122 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

lais ; and Robespierre, declaiming at the club about 
the victory, and declaring that the National Assem- 
bly should be suspended, and Lafayette impeached. 

When the news of this Revolution reached the army, 
it was accompanied with accusations against Dumou- 
riez and Lafayette. To give themselves up to the 
tribunals at Paris, to be tried, was to abandon them- 
selves to death. Lafayette, therefore, fled to Austria, 
and was thrown into prison. Dumouriez was rein- 
stated in favor, and attempted to fight for the repub- 
lic ; but eventually, finding anarchy and want of 
order in the government, took the bold resolution to 
bring over the army and march it against the revolu- 
tionists, that were destroying the very hope of repub- 
licans and deluging France in blood. Having failed 
in this attempt, he, too, fled to Austria, and was re- 
ceived with better favor than Lafayette. We cannot 
agree with Thiers here, in his condemnation of Du- 
mouriez. That brave general struggled as long as he 
could, single handed, and then sought the aid of 
Austria. But this coalition with a foreign power to 
march on Paris, and crush the anarchists that were 
destroying all the good fruits of the Revolution, M. 
Thiers regards as treachery, but we as patriotism. 
Dumouriez, it is true, would have been compelled to 
turn his cannon on his countrymen, and wade through 
the blood of Frenchmen, to the capital; but it would 
have been a saving of blood in the end. The reputa- 
tion of France, freedom, human life, every thing, was 
at stake, and Dumouriez knew it ; and instead of being 
branded as a traitor, he should be extolled as a pa- 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 123 

triot. Any coalition, any measure that would save 
France from the domination of the cut-throats that 
had elevated themselves in the place of the throne, 
was honorable. 

But every thing failed ; the Jacobins were king, and 
their club was the National Assembly. Committees 
of public safety, and of surveillance,* are but so 
many forms through which mob law can work. The 
authors of them know that they must now kill or be 
killed. Having cut themselves off from all sympathy 
without, and provoked the hostility of every crowned 
head of Europe — and knowing they must destroy all 
their enemies at home, or be swept away themselves — 
the anarchists set about their preparations to meet 
the storm with a courage that excites our admiration, 
but with a ferocity that makes the heart shudder with 
horror. Danton knew that boldness was the only 

* The Committee of the Public Safety was composed of 
twenty-five members. It was charged with the preparation 
of all the laws for the safety of the Republic externally. The 
ministers constituting the executive authority, had to render 
account to it twice a week, while it reported weekly of the 
state of the Republic. The duty of the Committee of Surveil- 
lance was to seize all suspected persons, and to carry out the 
decree, that made all of rank or wealth suspected. The Revo- 
lutionary Tribunal, instituted shortly after took cognizance of 
every act and person favoring any plot to re-establish sove- 
reignty, or weaken the power of the people. From its deci- 
sion there was no appeal. After the^fete of the Supreme 
Being, additional power was given to it; so that all evidence 
and counsel, and, indeed, witnesses were dispensed with ; or 
rather, accusers were allowed to be witnesses, so that it could 
destroy without hindrance. 



124 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

alternative, and exclaimed in the Assembly " we 
must strike terror to the royalists." A shiver ran 
through the hall, for the language meant extermi- 
nation. 

It is useless to follow the acts of Assembly farther. 
Legislation was a mere form, and it is to the Commune 
of Paris, the Clubs, and the Revolutionary Tribunal, 
we are to look for law. The first step in this course of 
self-protection, called public welfare, was to visit every 
house in Paris, and apprehend all imputed persons. 
The barriers are shut for forty-eight hours — the whole 
machinery of municipal government arrested — every 
shop closed, and every inhabitant shut up in his 
dwelling. The streets are deserted — the promenades 
are empty — the rattling of carriages is hushed, and 
the tool of the artisan no longer heard. The noise 
and bustle of the mighty city are suddenly succeeded 
by the silence and gloom of death. Pale terror sits 
by every fireside, and every voice speaks in a whisper. 
At length, at one o'clock in the morning, the rapid 
tread of these blood-hounds of the anarchists is heard 
in every street, and the stroke of their hammer on 
every door. Fifteen thousand persons were seized 
and committed to prison. The mob had dethroned 
the king on the 10th of August — the domiciliary 
visits were made on the 29th, and a new insurrection 
planned for the 2d of September, three days after. 
Now let the generale beat, and the tocsin send its 
terrible peal over the city, and the rapid alarm-guns 
make the Sabbath morning of the 2d of September 
as awful as the day of judgment. The trial and exe- 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 125 

cution of these suspected persons must be as sudden 
and summary as the arrest. From every quarter the 
armed multitude came streaming together. Twenty- 
four priests, on their way from the H6tel de Ville to 
the Abbaye, are first seized and butchered. Yarennes, 
trampled over the corpses, and spattering the blood 
over his shoes, keeps alive, and kindles into tenfold 
fury, the ferocity he has awakened in the maddened 
populace. Maillard, the leader of the mob of women 
that stormed Versailles, shouts "To the Carmelites!" 
— and " To the Carmelites !" echoes in terrific response 
from those around him. The turbulent mass rolls 
towards the church, and the two hundred priests em- 
ployed in it are butchered in each other's embrace, 
while their prayers to God are drowned in the shouts 
of the fiends that stab them around the very altar. 
The brave Archbishop of Aries receives three cuts 
of a sword on his face before he falls, and then dies 
at the foot of the cross of Christ. With a portion 
of these maddened executioners, Maillard returns to 
one of the sections of the city, and demands " wine 
for his brave laborers." With a shudder, the Com- 
mittee pour them out twenty-four quarts and then 
the shout is "To the Abbaye !" The brave surviving 
Swiss are first brought forward and fall pierced by a 
thousand pikes. The yells of the assassins penetrate 
the prison walls, announcing to the inmates that their 
hour is come. The aged Sombreuil, governor of the 
Invalides, is brought forth, but just as the bayonet is 
lifted to strike him, his lovely daughter falls on his 
neck, and pleads in such piteous accents and distress- 

11* 



126 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

ful tears for her father's life, that he is spared, on the 
condition she will drink the blood of aristocrats. A 
goblet of the warm blood is put to her mouth, and 
she drains it at a draught. Half-naked monsters, 
bespattered with brains and blood, and making night 
hideous with frantic yells, shout his pardon. The 
Princess de Lamballe, the friend of the queen, and 
the beauty of the court, is led forth into the midst of 
this Saturnalia of hell, and after fainting several 
times at the horrible spectacle presented to her eyes, 
a sword stroke opens her head behind. She faints 
again and recovering is forced to walk between two 
fierce ensanguined wretches over a pavement of dead 
bodies, then is speared on a heap of corpses. The 
raging fiend in their bosoms still unsatisfied, the body 
is stripped, exposed for two. hours to every insult and 
indecency that human depravity can invent, and 
finally one leg rent away and thrust into a cannon, 
which is fired off in honor of this jubilee of demons. 
The beautiful head, borne aloft on a goary pike, with 
the auburn tresses clotted with blood and streaming 
down the staff, is waved over the crowd, and made to 
salute the fiends that dance in horrid mirth around 
it. Qaira ! Yes, " that will do !" but the hurried 
beat of the generate, and the loud peal of the tocsin, 
announcing that murder and massacre are abroad, 
shall be heard too often even for those who ring it. 
Between this night and the 7th, a thousand were 
butchered. And yet there were only about three 
hundred, in all, engaged in this work of blood, while 
ten thousand of the National Guards remained quietly 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 127 

in their quarters. The Committee of Public Safety 
avowed these massacres and defended them, and re- 
commended similar sanguinary executions in the dif- 
ferent provinces. The taste of blood had whetted 
the appetite of the mob, and they needed daily vic- 
tims to gratify it. In the midst of such constant 
excitement and alarm, the election took place for de- 
puties to the National Convention. Being influenced 
in every part of France by the Jacobins, and in Paris 
entirely controlled by them, the members of the last 
Assembly were almost universally returned, and the 
National Convention was formed simply by the Assem- 
bly resolving itself into it. It was a change of name, 
nothing more. The division of Girondin and Moun- 
tain now became more distinct, and, at the condemna- 
tion and the execution of Louis, which soon followed, 
permanent and broad. The Girondins, from this 
time forward, were accused of favoring the king, and 
hence became objects of deep hostility to the Moun- 
tain and Jacobins, both of whom gradually became 
one in sympathy and purpose. On the side of the 
Mountain, we find Robespierre, Danton, Camille 
Desmoulins, David Legendre, Collot d'Herbor= and the 
Duke of Orleans. Marat alone was wanting to laake 
the list complete. On the other side, we find Guadet, 
Vergniaud, Gensonne, Condorcet, Buzot, the bold and 
noble-hearted Barbaroux, and his devoted friend 
Rebecqui. These last, hating Robespierre, Danton, 
Marat, and their followers, did not cease to denounce 
them, and were denounced in return. Robespierre 
was accused, and Marat brought to trial, but were 



128 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

both acquitted. The anarchists, with the factions of 
Paris, at first in the minority, gradually gained in 
power, and all efforts of the Girondins to destroy the 
conspirators of the 10th of August and 2d of Sep- 
tember were in vain. The Revolutionary Tribunal 
was established to expedite the executions, and steadily 
increased in power. The public accuser of it, the 
infamous Fouquier Tinville, was constantly urged by 
the Committee of Public Safety to hasten the execu- 
tions. He needed no such incentive to whet his mor- 
bid appetite for blood. To a frame and will of iron, 
he added a steadiness of purpose and unweariedness 
of effort, and a hatred of man, that made him the fit 
agent of such an engine of terror. Cold as marble 
to every thing but the pleasure of murder, he had no 
passion but ferocity. Appetite, lust, desire, covetous- 
ness, were all unknown to him. The love of human 
suffering and flowing blood absorbed all other feel- 
ings and affections of the man, and he moved amid 
this chaos like a spirit of darkness, sweeping men by 
thousands into the grave. Yet even he showed that 
ferocity has a limit ; for, when the Committee of Pub- 
lic Safety ordered him to increase the executions to a 
hundred and fifty a day, he was so horrified that he 
confessed, on his trial, that as he returned home the 
Seine appeared to run blood. While he was thus 
wasting life in Paris, the guillotine, guarded by artil- 
lery, was travelling over France, reeking with gore, 
and leaving destruction in its path. All the upper 
classes were destined to the grave. Danton was the 
origin of this infamous Revolutionary Tribunal, little 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 129 

thinking it would one day take off his own head. It 
is useless to follow the struggle between the two por- 
tions of the Convention. One or the other must 
sooner or later fall. Unions made in moments of 
enthusiasm, and suspension of hostilities in times of 
great external danger, only delayed, not prevented, 
the catastrophe. 

Robespierre accused the Girondins of being an 
under aristocracy, and opposed to the interests of the 
people, and hence carried Paris and the populace 
with him. The Girondins, on the other hand, waged 
constant war on the atrocious measures which the 
Commune of Paris and the Jacobins and Mountain 
constantly proposed and executed. At length, the 
same measure bj which the king was dethroned on 
the 10th of August, 1792, and the prisoners slain on 
the 2d of September of the same year, was set on 
foot to overthrow the Girondins in 1793. The spirit 
of lawless violence, which Louis could and should 
have quelled, had now become too strong for opposi- 
tion ; and although the Girondins endeavored to stem 
it manfully to the last, their actions were marked by 
greater courage than policy. On Sunday, again, as if 
this day were the most favorable to success, the insur- 
rection which was to overthrow the last defenders of 
true liberty was to take place. All night long had 
the generale beat, and the tocsin pealed on over the 
city, driving sleep from every eye, and sending terror 
to every bosom, and at daybreak the booming of the 
alarm-gun amid the general tumult was heard calling 
the multitude to arms. The Convention was sur- 



130 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

rounded, but most of the Girondins were away, con- 
cealed in their friends' houses. The Mountain and 
the Jacobins had now unlimited power, and the 
Girondins, prosecuted by the Commune of Paris, were 
ordered to be put under arrest. This crushed the 
party for ever. Part fled into the provinces to stir 
up a rebellion against the Jacobins, and part re- 
mained behind to mount the scaffold. Now, Robe- 
spierre and his Jacobins have it all their own way. 
The Reign of Terror has commenced, and order is 
restored and preserved by the awful power of fear 
alone. Moderates are regarded as aristocrats, and 
under the law established in respect to suspected per- 
sons no one is safe from accusation. Law is abro- 
gated, legislation ended, and a dictatorship composed 
of the Revolutionary Tribunal, and the Committee of 
Public Safety are really the only power in Franca. 
Rut the danger was not over. A foreign foe was on 
the frontier moving towards the capital, while the 
provinces, in arms, were also marching thither to 
avenge the Convention. The only weapon to be used 
against the enemy at home was terror, while the re- 
publican armies were to resist the foe from without. 
In the midst of these excitements, Marat, one of the 
famed triumviri fell before the knife of Charlotte 
Corday, the first act of retributive justice, which was 
to be followed by others, till the whole tribe of mon- 
sters should sink, one after another, into the bloody 
grave in which they had pushed so many before 
them. 

But as there cannot be agitation without parties, 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 131 

so they began to be formed in the Convention, Jaco- 
bins as they were, although it had just rid itself of 
the great conservative party of the Girondins. Part, 
seeing in how dangerous hands the supreme power of 
France was placed, demanded the revival of the con- 
stitutional ministry, to be independent of the legis- 
lative power, and hence of the Committee of Public 
Welfare. There were also among these radicals some 
more moderate than others, as there always must be. 
There is a conservative part to all radicalism, an upper 
crust to the lowest stratum, which may be cut off again 
and again — there still is left an upper surface, which 
the lower must remove, submit to, or perish. Radicals 
forget this great fact when they begin to hew away the 
upper classes. The relation still exists — there always 
will be those more moderate than others. It was so 
in the Convention. Thus we see two incipient par- 
ties springing out of the Mountain itself, and endea- 
voring to stay the wild revolutionary energy that was 
sweeping every thing away in its fury. 

In the mean time the Jacobins and their friends de- 
clared, through the Convention, the Revolution to be in 
a state of siege, from the foes without and within, and 
hence adopted revolutionary measures. A revolution- 
ary army and a revolutionary police were established. 
The police watched the Republic, and the army de- 
fended it ; and while the latter was struggling against 
monarchy, working through its armies, the former at- 
tempted to subvert all aristocracy, by imprisoning all 
suspected persons. The energy of this revolutionary 
government was astonishing ; for, while it challenged 



132 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

the royalty of Europe to the conflict, and " threw 
down the head of a king as the gage of battle," it 
carried out, in all its details, the severest police re- 
gulations that were ever instituted. Revolutionary 
committees were formed in every part of France, en- 
dowed with the power of judging the persons liable 
to arrest. Paris had forty-eight, and fifty thousand 
were in operation throughout the kingdom. The re- 
sult of these revolutionary measures drenched France 
in blood. At Lyons, the murderous Collot d'Herbois, 
under sanction of the government, and carrying out 
its decree — that an army should travel over the pro- 
vinces, accompanied by artillery and a guillotine — 
slew by wholesale. Suspected houses were blown up 
together, and prisoners were arranged in file, with a 
ditch on either side to receive the dead bodies, and 
then mowed down with grape shot. The Rhone ran 
blood, and its waters became poisoned with the putrid 
corpses that loaded the stream. Every species of cru- 
elty that depravity could invent was exhibited in 
these sanguinary scenes. Amidst the groans of the 
wounded, and shrieks and tears of friends, Collot 
d'Herbois, and Fouche', and his partisans rioted with 
courtesans, and laughed amid the carnage. In five 
months six thousand were butchered, and double 
that number driven into exile. At Bordeaux, the 
same sanguinary scenes were enacted, and all the 
great cities of France felt the vengeance of the 
Mountain. In Nantes, women and children were 
mingled up in the massacres in such proportions, that 
the ordinary modes of execution were unequal to slay 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 133 

the countless victims that were daily offered. Chained 
together, two and two, they were thrown into the 
Loire, while soldiers lined the shore with drawn sa- 
bres, to despatch those who escaped drowning. Six 
hundred children perished in this inhuman manner. 
In another instance, five hundred children were led 
out to be shot ; — unaccustomed to fire sufficiently low 
to hit these innocent children, the soldiers sent their 
bullets over their heads. Frantic with fear, these com- 
parative infants suddenly broke their bonds and 
rushed in among the soldiers, clinging to their knees, 
crying for mercy. But nothing could allay the fiend 
that had taken possession of the executioners, and the 
sword hewed down the suppliants by scores. Thirty 
thousand perished in Nantes alone. The head Revolu- 
tionary Tribunal at Paris, of which all others were but 
shoots, was in the mean time busy at home. Carts 
were regularly driven up to the door every morning 
waiting for its load of human bodies. The accusations, 
made without cause, were followed instantaneously by 
the trial without justice, and the guillotine ended the 
farce. Fifty a day would be tried and executed. The 
rolling of tumbrels, going to and from the place of ex- 
ecution, carried constant terror to the prisoners, who 
heard itirom their dungeons. Men became reckless of 
life, and danced and sung on the day of' their execu- 
tion, and went joking to the scaffold. *Man had lost his 
humanity ; and a spirit of ferocity, unheard of before 
in the annals of history, animated the bosoms of the 
murderers who sat as judges. It was more than cold- 
blooded murder — it was a madness or a mania as inex- 

12 



134 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

plicable as it was terrific. At first, the people seemed 
to enjoy the excitement of these scenes of horror, 
and benches were arranged around the guillotine for 
their accommodation, on which men and women sat and 
sang Ca ira ! as head after head rolled on the scaf- 
fold. Robespierre, and his Revolutionary Tribunal, 
waded in blood, and still the cry was for more. 
France had lost nearly a million by the Revolution ; 
and the blows which had smitten only the upper 
classes of society began to descend on the lower 
classes. Then the reaction commenced. Artisans 
shut up their shops along the street where the carts 
passed to the guillotine. A solemn feeling, the first 
indication of returning reason, began to usurp the 
place of madness. The monsters who sat as gods in 
the midst of this overthrow of life, were themselves 
alarmed at the depth to which they had waded in hu- 
man gore, and looked in vain for some shore to stand 
on. They could not go back, and it grew wilder as 
they advanced. The heavens grew dark overhead ; 
and they felt* the intimations of an approaching 
storm, that, even in its birth-throes, betokened a 
fiercer strength than their own. The wave they 
had gathered and sent onward had met its limit, and 
was now balancing for its backward march. Danton, 
who had sickened of the endless murders, was accused 
as a moderate, and, with Camille Desmoulins, cast 
in prison. The Revolutionary Tribunal he had put 
in operation, though awe-struck for a moment by his 
boldness, and alarmed as it heard his voice of thun- 
der hurling defiance into its midst, soon sent him and 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 135 

his compeers to the guillotine, that still waited for 
greater victims. 

The dethronement of the Deity and instalment of 
Reason in his place, in the person of a lewd woman, 
alarmed Robespierre, who trembled to see human pas- 
sion cut loose from all restraint, and he re-enthroned 
the Supreme Ruler in solemn pomp. His haughty 
bearing on this day turned him from an object of rev- 
erence into one of suspicion. Jealousy also began to 
show itself between the Committee of Public Welfare 
and the Committee of Public Safety, and sections of 
both to distrust Robespierre, in his rapid strides to 
supreme power. People began to say, " Robespierre 
wills it;" "Robespierre demands it." He was the 
power. This he had sought, but wished it without 
the responsibility. While resentments and jealousies 
were thus acquiring strength in the different com- 
mittees, public sympathy began to react against the 
atrocities to which there seemed no end. In this state 
of affairs there was wanting only an occasion sufficient 
to demand boldness of action in the Convention. It 
was soon furnished in the attack Robespierre made on 
his old friends, who dared to complain of his arbitrary 
measures. In a moment of courage Billaud cast off 
all reserve, and, in the midst of the dark hints thrown 
out in the Convention against Robespierre, accused 
him, abruptly, of endeavoring to control the commit- 
tees, and seeking to be sole master ; andj lastly, of 
conspiring the day before with the Jacobins to deci- 
mate the Convention. The smothered fire had at 
length burst forth ; and the sudden shout, " Down 



136 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

with the tyrant !" shook the hall. Robespierre, livid 
with rage, attempted to speak, but his voice was 
drowned in the shouts, " arrest I" " accusation !" " to 
the vote ! to the vote !" A decree against him, St. 
Just, and Couthon was carried. 

In the mean time, the Jacobins in the Commons 
were thunderstruck at the sudden fall of their leader. 
They had been planning a second insurrection against 
the Convention, and the blow had reached them first. 
The infamous Henriot galloped, half drunk, through 
the streets, striving to rouse the people. Having 
misled the gunners in the Place du Carrousel, they 
had pointed their artillery on the hall of the Nation- 
al Convention. The deputies prepared themselves 
for death, but in the mean time passed a decree of 
outlawry against Henriot, which being read to the 
soldiers they refused to fire. The National Guards 
sided with the convention, and it was over with 
Robespierre and his conspirators. Though snatched 
from the hands of the Convention by the mob, and 
carried to the H6tel de Ville, they were at length 
secured. Having been outlawed there was no need 
of trial, and they were led off to execution. 

What a change a single day had made in the fate 
of Robespierre ! As we see him lying on a table in 
the hall of the Committee of Public Welfare, pale and 
haggard, the same blue coat he had worn in pomp 
and pride at the festival of the Supreme Being, spat- 
tered with the blood from his wound, which he vainly 
strives to stanch with the sheath of his pistol, we 
learn a lesson on tyranny, and not on republicanism, 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 137 

we can never forget. The guillotine, to which he 
had sent so many, finally reached him ; and the ter- 
rific yell he uttered, freezing every heart with horror, 
as the bandage was torn from his maimed jaw, letting 
it drop on his breast, was the knell of the Reign of 
Terror. Joy and exultation filled every bosom when 
it was announced that he and his accomplices were 
no more. Here the Revolution stopped, and began 
to retrograde. 

The five years we have thus gone over, stand alone 
in the history of man. In 1789, the National As- 
sembly overthrew the feudel system, and took the 
first great revolutionary step. In 1791, a Constitu- 
tion had been given to France ; but, dissatisfied with 
its action, a few months after, the mob stormed the 
Tuileries and dethroned the king. The Revolution 
had now awakened the hostility of Europe, and amid 
the foes without and the dangers within, it raged with 
tenfold fury. As these dangers accumulated and 
obstacles increased, the last degree of exasperation 
was reached, and it went on destroying with a blind 
rage that threatened to overwhelm every thing in its 
passage. With the appearance of mighty armies 
without and the spectres of bloody plots within, it- 
saw no safety but in indiscriminate slaughter. At 
the end of 1793, the republican armies were crowned 
with victory, and the excuse of desperate measures 
no longer existed, and in the waking up of humanity 
the tyranny of terror went down. We cannot follow 
here the future steps of the National Convention. 
The heads of the Jacobin party had been cut off, but 

12* 



138 THIERS' REVOLUTION, 

the members remained to make one more derperate 
effort for power. Famine too, stalked abroad, fur- 
nishing food to nothing but agitation and despair. 
But general order prevailed — the Jacobin Club was 
closed — the Revolutionary Tribunal destroyed, and 
the insurrections in different parts of the kingdom 
quelled. The insurrection called the Insurrection of 
the 1st of Prairial, was like that which drove the mob 
of women to Versailles — scarcity of bread. It was 
more terrific and threatening than that which over- 
threw or destroyed the Girondins, but the govern- 
ment had learned to use the force at its disposal with 
firmness and courage, and the tumult which threat- 
ened to bring back the horrors of the 2d of Sep- 
tember was quelled. 

The adoption of a new' Constitution now followed, 
vesting the executive power in the hands of five Di- 
rectors, and the legislative in two councils — that of 
the Five Hundred and that of the Ancients. The 
council of Five Hundred appointed the Directors, 
which constituted the famous Directory of France. 
This Constitution excited the last great insurrection 
of Paris, called the Insurrection of the 13th of Ven- 
demaire, and ended for ever the power of the Jacobins. 
The generate, which had so often carried conster- 
nation into the hearts of the Parisians, was once 
more beat and the tocsin sounded, and the lawless 
power of the mob again on its march, with forty 
thousand of the National Guard to sustain it. — 
Against this overwhelming force, the Constitution 
had but five thousand men to defend itself. With 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 139 

half the irresolution of Louis XVI., it would have 
shared his fate. But fortunately these five thousand 
were put under the command of that same youth who 
saw, with inexpressible indignation, Louis XYI. sub- 
mit to the indignities and insults of the mob in the 
Tuileries. Young Bonaparte had none of that mon- 
arch's womanly weakness, or childish fear of shedding 
human blood. With his trusty band, he opened his 
cannon on the approaching masses of his countrymen, 
as he had done before on the Austrian columns. 
His orders to disperse where terrific discharges of 
grapeshot, and the authority with which they were 
issued, was seen in the falling ranks that reeled to 
the murderous fire. The lawless bands, that had first 
become powerful through the weakness of the king, 
saw that the government was now in different hands, 
and disappeared as suddenly as they had arisen. 
Peace was restored, the factions for ever broken, and 
a new era dawned on France. At length, October 
26, 1795, the National Convention, after having been 
in session three years, and passed 8370 decrees, dis- 
solved itself. The Directory immediately established 
itself at Luxembourg, and the remainder of the his- 
tory of the Revolution is taken up chiefly with the 
external wars up to 1799, at the establishment of the 
Consulate under Napoleon Bonaparte. We will not 
trace the steps by which Bonaparte rapidly ascended 
to power. Lodi, and Areola, with their desperate 
struggles and victories ; the conquests in Italy and 
on the Rhine ; the battles of the Pyramids and the 
overthrow of Egypt ; the tyrnliant achievements with 



140 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

which he dazzled the French people and prepared 
them for his domination, are part of history known 
to all. Like some mighty spirit rising amid universal 
chaos, and moulding and commanding the raging ele- 
ments till they marshal themselves in order around 
him, so did Bonaparte appear amid the turbulence 
that had shaken France into fragments, and unsettled 
a continent from its repose. The strange elements 
and daring spirits the Revolution shook up to the sur- 
face, he directed on external foes, and moving him- 
self on before in the path of ambition and military 
glory he drew a crowd after him filled with the same 
courage and lofty chivalry. Binding these to him by 
affection and reverence, and making himself the soul 
of the army, supreme power imperceptibly glided into 
his hands, and the revolution of the 18th of Brumaire, 
by which he obtained the outward insignia of power, 
and overthrew the Directory, was w but the visible ex- 
pression of what had been already done. 

Ten years had elapsed between the calling of the 
States General, in which the tiers etat made the first 
feeble attempts at freedom, and the Consulate. Yet, 
in that time, France had overthrown the feudal con- 
stitution which had been impregnable for ages ; and 
from a feudal despotism become a limited monarchy 
with a constitution — from that had suddenly arisen 
before the astonished world, and in the midst of the 
despotism of Europe, a free republic, declaring war 
against all thrones ; and throwing down " the head of 
a king and six thousand prisoners as the gage of bat- 
tle" — and then passed into the wildest anarchy that 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 141 

ever shook a kingdom ; and last of all had risen up 
into a strong military despotism, startling the world 
as much by its arms as it had done by its principles. 
Ten years of such history the world never before saw. 
All these transitions were, perhaps, inevitable, after 
the first step was taken, and the first legislative revo- 
lution accomplished. All that France experienced 
may have been necessary to the transition from deep 
oppression and utter misery to freedom and comfort, 
except the Reign of Terror. Popular outbreaks, and 
the transient rule of the headlong populace are to be 
expected, but not the steady and systematic legisla- 
tion of a mob, ruling by terror, and acting through 
the government of the land. The power of the Ja- 
cobins spreading itself, till it wrapped the entire gov- 
ernment in its folds, is not chargeable on republican- 
ism. Yet, it is not without its uses ; by teaching all 
republics, to remotest time, that their danger consists 
not in the ascendency of an aristocracy once over- 
turned, but in the blind fury of factions. No mili- 
tary despotism ever yet grew out of a republic, ex- 
cept through the influence and corruption of factions 
that were suffered to increase without resistance, till 
the aid of the populace could be depended on in a 
struggle against the authority and power of law. 

Bloody as was the French Revolution, no one can 
now appreciate the circumstances in which the men 
of that period were placed. Those alone who have 
felt the oppression and inhumanity of an unprinci- 
pled aristocracy, can know how strong is the feeling 
of retributive justice, and how terrible the fear of the 



142 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

reascendency of such power, rendered still more fearful 
by burning hatred. Added to all this, the crowned 
heads of Europe were moving down on this new, 
agitated republic, threatening to crush it, in its first 
incoherent struggles for life. Fear and rage com- 
bined, strung the energies of France to their utmost 
tension, and we look with wonder on the boldness and 
strength with which she struggled in her distress. 
Robespierre, Danton, Marat, Couthon, Barrere, St. 
Just, and Collot d'Herbois were monsters ; yet, per- 
haps, with the exception of Marat and Couthon, not 
so much so by nature as by circumstances. After 
they obtained the power, it was a matter of life and 
death with them, and having shut their hearts against 
all compassion, every thing in their own defence seemed 
alike pardonable. Let them pass as spectres of that 
mighty Revolution. Their reign was short ; lasting 
only about nine months, while the first States General 
struggled manfully against tyranny for three years. 

The Revolution was not so much perhaps to give 
liberty to France, as to break the spell of tyranny in 
Europe. If this be true, Bonaparte's career was asr 
much needed as the Revolution itself. The iron frame- 
work of the feudal system had fastened itself so 
thoroughly, and rusted so long in its place, above the 
heads of the lower classes, that no slow cessation or 
steadily wasting effort could affect its firmness. A 
convulsion that should heave and rend it asunder 
. was needed. It came in the French Revolution, but 
this affected only France. Some power was needed 
to roll this earthquake under the thrones of Europe, 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 143 

and Bonaparte was the man. Taking the untamed 
energies this sudden upheaving had cast forth on the 
bosom of society, he prepared to dispute with Europe 
the exclusive claim of nobility to power and privilege. 
A plebeian himself, he made marshals of plebeians. 
Ney, and Murat, and Soult, and Davoust, and Mac- 
donald, and Kleber, and a host of others, were base- 
born men, and he pitted them against princes and 
dukes and nobles of every degree, and the plebeians 
proved themselves the better men. Nay, he did more 
— he shocked and disgusted, and for ever disgraced 
royalty itself, in their estimation, by making kings 
of plebeians, and finally taking the daughter of one 
of the haughtiest monarchs of Europe to his plebeian 
bed. He forced the haughty aristocracy to mingle 
in blood and companionship with those of his own 
making ; and carried out, to its utmost limit, the just 
act of the tiers etat, when they wished simply to have 
the orders verify in common with them. He thus 
broke up this iron system over the continent — drove 
every thing into fragments, and sent thrones, emptied 
of their kings and all the insignia of royalty, drifting 
like a floating wreck on the ocean he had set heaving. 
The strongest pillars of royalty were shattered to 
their bases — the objects of oldest, deepest reverence 
treated as baubles, and the spell-word, by which pride 
and tyranny had conjured so long, made powerless 
as the tricks of a playactor. He confounded and 
confused every thing, and set the crowned heads of 
Europe in such a tumult and wonderment, that they 
have not yet recovered their senses. He started 



144 THIERS' REVOLUTION. 

every rivet in the chain of despotism, so that it can 
never be fastened again — and, more than all, waked 
up the human soul to think for itself, so that the dark 
ages which preceded his appearance can never more 
return. The work of reformation may be slow, but 
it is sure. Man is for ever exalted, and he cannot be 
depressed anew. Reverence and fear are rapidly 
diminishing, while the dawning light is spreading 
higher and brighter on the horizon. With Bona- 
parte's motives we now have nothing to do, but with 
the effect of his actions alone. His own imperial 
reign, though despotism to France, was republicanism 
to the world. It was the Revolution rolled out of 
France, and working amid the thrones of Europe. 
In this respect Bonaparte had an important mission 
to fulfil, and he accomplished it. The elements he so 
strangely disturbed, slowly settled back towards their 
original places, but never did, and never can reach 
them. The solid surfaces of feudalism has been 
broken, and can never reunite. Other experiments 
are to be worked out, and other destinies reached, 
different from those which have heretofore made up 
the history of man. 

There is another aspect in which the Revolution 
may be regarded. It was like a personal struggle 
between freedom and tyranny, which must have taken 
place before man could be benefited ; and when it did 
occur, must, from the very fierceness of the conflict; 
have been simply a wild and desperate effort for vic- 
tory — victory alone. The strife was too deadly and 
awful to admit of any other thought than bare vie- 



THIERS' REVOLUTION. 145 

tory, and hence the means employed, and the distress 
occasioned, were minor considerations. The struggle 
was necessarily terrible from the very magnitude of 
the consequences involved in the issue, and the con- 
vulsions inevitable from such a struggle. The bene- 
fits are yet to be received. We believe the French 
Revolution has settled the question, whether all re- 
form is to be checked by the bayonet. We see, al- 
ready, its effects on the despotisms of Europe. Eng- 
land might have been the victim of this strife between 
liberty and tyranny, if France had not. But now 
she yields rights, one after another, in obedience to 
the stern voice of the people. Kings speak in an 
humble tone of their power, and in a more respectful 
manner of their subjects. Man, simple, untitled man, 
is no longer a cipher in government. He is con- 
sulted silently, if not openly. The king fears him, 
as he stands in the might and majesty of truth, 
more than hostile armies. The French Revolution, 
and Bonaparte afterwards, rent every thing to pieces 
by the vehemence of their action, but left room for 
truth to perform its silent and greater work. France 
went back to military despotism, and is now a mo- 
narchy — but the world is no longer what it was. 
Whatever the final goal may be, it has, at least, taken 
one step forward. 



13 



146 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 



CHAPTER IV. 

ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

The period embraced in this work of Mr. Alison 
furnishes more copious materials for a brilhant nar- 
rative than any period of the same length in the his- 
tory of nations. To commence with a description of 
the " earthquake that opened under the Bourbon 
throne," and let down a whole dynasty of kings, and 
end with the battle of Waterloo, which overthrew an 
emperor and an empire, is to commence and end 
with all that is exciting in the history of man. The 
selection of this period shows the taste and character 
of the writer. Of an ardent temperament and highly 
poetic imagination, the terrific scenes that followed 
each other in such rapid succession from the first out- 
break in Paris, are, to him, but so many separate 
passages in a great tragedy of which Bonaparte was 
the hero, and Waterloo the closing act. The history 
of this period is, for the most part, a history of bat- 
tles, in the description of which lies Mr. Alison's 
peculiar excellence. He is, indeed, a wonderful ex- 
ample of the ease with which a writer of vivid descrip- 
tion and billiant style can take captive our judgment 
and blind our criticism. As the hundreds who speak 
in rapturous terms of his work, Why they are so en- 



ALISON'S IIISTOKY OF EUROPE. 147 

chanted with it, and the answer is, " He is a splendid 
writer — do you remember the description of the bat- 
tles of Wagram, Borodino, and Waterloo?" Of the 
truth of the great political events he narrates, the 
skill manifested in their grouping, and the causes 
which led to them, we hear nothing of praise. The 
arrangement of the work is exceedingly faulty, con- 
fusing us more than we ever remember to have been 
confused in reading the history of so short a period. 
The style, which is animated and racy, making us 
eye-witnesses of the terrific scenes he depicts, is yet 
often inflated and eminently careless. A sentence 
in the opening paragraph of the very first chapter, is 
but one of many examples. In speaking of the 
French Revolution, he says, u From the flame which 
was* kindled in Europe, the whole world has been in- 
volved in conflagration, and a new era dawned upon 
both hemispheres from the effect of its expansion." 
The figure here introduced by " conflagration," and 
carried out by " expansion," Mr. Alison may think 
very good English, but it is any thing but good 
rhetoric. 

The opening pages of such a work we should ex- 
pect to see devoted to the causes which produced 
the French Revolution — the great event which com- 
mences the history. But we were not prepared to 
find nearly forty pages occupied in drawing a parallel 
between it and the English Revolution under Crom- 
well, going back to the English Settlement and the 
Danish and Anglo-Saxon Conquests. The English 
Revolution does not come into the period of his his- 



148 alison's history of europe. 

tory ; and to lead us down through the half barbarism 
of England in the early ages, and through all her 
feudal history, to give us the causes of the " Rebel- 
lion," is as foolish as it is confusing. Were one to 
write a history of England or France from its origin, 
it would be interesting to trace how civilization and 
liberty grew step by step, till they reached their pre- 
sent state in the nation. But the inappropriateness 
of the thing is our least objection. His philosophy 
and logic are false from beginning to end ; and here, 
at the outset, we state the grand fault of Mr. Alison 
in compiling this history. He is a high Tory, and 
no more fit to write of this period, ushered in by the 
outbreak of the Republican spirit, and carried on with 
all the wildness of newly recovered and untamed free- 
dom, than an Ultra Chartist of Birmingham to %rite 
the feudal history of England. A man falsifies his- 
tory in two ways — first, by falsifying fact — second, 
by. misstating the causes of those facts. The last, 
we consider the most culpable of the two, and of this 
crime Mr. Alison stands heavily charged. He set 
out with the determination to malign Republicanism 
and exalt Monarchy ; and not satisfied with wrongly 
coloring facts, he exposes himself to the most ridicu- 
lous blunders, and contradicts his own assertions' to 
secure his end. Whenever he speaks of " Democracy," 
or the "Rights of the people," he evidently has be- 
fore him the riots of Birmingham, the Chartist " Bill 
of Rights," and the petition of three millions of Eng- 
lishmen for universal suffrage. This picture warps 
his judgment sadly, and his philosophical " reflec- 



ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 149 

tions" on the Trench Revolution are a mixture of 
false logic, self-contradictions, and merest common- 
places from first to last. Thus, at the outset, in the 
very parallel we were speaking of, he says of the 
English Revolution, " the pulpit was the fulcrum on 
which the whole efforts of the popular leaders rested, 
and the once venerable fabric of the English mon- 
archy, to which so large a portion of its influential 
classes have in every age of its history been attached, 
yielded at last to the force of fanatical frenzy." 
"In France, the influence of religion was all exerted 
on the other side," &c. In other words, true religion 
was with the royalists in both rebellions, and fanati- 
cism or infidelity with the republicans. Now, in the 
first place, if this be true, why lead us down through 
the Dark Ages to show the causes of the English 
Revolution — why talk to us of the struggle for prin- 
ciple — why boast of the moderation of the people 
during its progress, and the regard to individual 
rights ? Fanaticism is not so discriminating and just 
when it seizes the sword, and Mr. Alison has falsified 
one of the most important events of English history. 

The statement is equally untrue with regard to the 
French Revolution. No attack was made on religion, 
nor did it enter one way or other into the conflict as 
a great element, until the priests began to declaim 
from the pulpits against the Assembly, denouncing 
every act of the reformers as sacrilegious, and excit- 
ing the people to resistance. The Qhurch took sides 
with the throne and the aristocrcy, as it had been 
partner in their oppressions and rapacity, and of 

13* 



150 alison's history of Europe. 

course went down with them. And instead of the 
Cromwellian rebellion growing out of the fanaticism 
of the priests it sprung from the Parliament itself. 
The despotism of Charles L, his dangerous encroach- 
ments on the liberty of speech, and on the Constitu- 
tion, were borne with till longer endurance became 
a crime. The whole history of the Long Parliament 
denies this statement of Mr. Alison. Charles I. 
trampled on the laws of England : he was tried for , 
his crime and beheaded. The struggle that followed 
is chargeable on those who defended the throne in its 
wrong-doing . There was no need of rebellion ; and 
there would have been none but for the tyranny of 
the king and the injustice of his friends. The con- 
flict was between the Parliament and the throne. 
The people sided with the Parliament, and the throne 
went down. It was a struggle for the supremacy of 
British law and British rights, and hence was con- 
ducted with the moderation and justice which the 
cause demanded. Now, turn to the French Revolu- 
tion — and what lay at the bottom of that ? Suffering, 
unparalleled suffering — suffering that had been accu- 
mulating through all ages. There were really but two 
classes in France — the privileged and unprivileged — 
the taxed and untaxed — the devoured and devour ers. 
Mr. Alison acknowledges " there was a difference in 
the circumstances of the two countries at the period 
when their respective revolutions arose ; but not so 
much as to make the contest in the one the founda- 
tion of a new distribution of property, and a different 
balance of power in the other the chief means of 



Alison's history of Europe. 151 

maintaining the subsisting interests of society, the 
existing equilibrium of the world." There was just 
this difference : the contest in England was for order 
and the supremacy of right and law, in France it was 
for bread. Stern, unbending principle guided the 
one, starvation and desperation the other. The in- 
evitable result must be the establishment of justice in 
the one case, and the overthrow of every thing estab- 
lished in the other. Rousseau never uttered a truer 
sentiment than in saying, " When the poor have 
nothing to eat they will eat the rich;" or Carlyle, 
writing, "When the thoughts of a people in the great 
mass of it, have grown mad, the combined issue of 
that people's workings will be madness — an incoher- 
ency and ruin." It must be so. With the first con- 
sciousness of power they cry out, as they run over 
the long catalogue of their sufferings, " Plunder shall 
be paid with plunder, violence with violence, and blood 
with blood." 

The same influence of this hatred of democracy, 
blinding his judgment and compelling him to mis- 
state facts, is seen in the proximate causes he gives 
as leading to the Revolution. It would be too gross 
a misstatement to declare that there was not suffi- 
cient suffering in France to produce an insurrection, 
as the Duke of Wellington- once said there was no 
suffering in England. He acknowledges it, but 
thinks it has been overrated. Still, the picture he 
draws of the misery of the lower classes is frightful. 
The taille and vingtieme imposts fell heavily on the 
farmer, so that out of the produce of his land he 



152 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

received only about one quarter, the other three 
quarters being divided between the proprietor and 
the king. This alone would reduce the population 
of any country to starvation and consequent mad- 
ness. Accustomed to yield to arbitrary power, the 
people never dreamed of resistance till driven to it 
by despair. Men dare ask for bread any where. 
The bayonet and scaffold can be contemplated with 
more calmness than famine. 

Out of this state of feeling grew the Revolution, 
and all its horrors. Mr. Alison admits there was 
sufficient suffering and oppression to create an out- 
break — indeed, he goes as far as to make the lower 
classes seventy-six per cent, poorer than the laborer 
in England, which is a degree of poverty beyond our 
conception — yet he affirms that the Revolution was 
started by the upper classes, and could have been 
checked by them at any moment ; nay, he puts the 
blame of setting it in motion on such dreamers as 
Voltaire and Rousseau, who uttered fine sentiments 
about liberty, equality, etc. In making a statement 
so opposed to facts, he doubtless has in his mind 
such men as Carlyle, Thomas Hood, and others, 
whose writings are telling with such wonderful effect 
upon the English people. It needs but a glance to 
see where the grand difficulty lay. The leaders of 
the mobs knew it well, jand wrote epigramatically, 
"tout va bien ici, le pain manque," all goes well — 
there is a lack of bread. The first attack of the 
populace was on one who said a man could live on 
seven sous a day. Then followed attacks on tax- 



ALISON'S HISTOEY OF EUROPE. 153 

gatherers and bakers. The first man hung at the 
lamp-post, Foulon, was hung for replying to the peo- 
ple's cry of distress, "let them eat grass." Watch 
the army of women swarming around Versailles, cry- 
ing, "Bread! bread!" See them gathered around 
their watch-fire at midnight, devouring the remains 
of a horse. Hear them screaming back to the Na- 
tional Assembly, whither they had forced themselves, 
" du pain pas tant de long discours" — bread, and not 
long speeches. There lies the cause of the disease, 
and not all the aristocracy of Trance could have pre- 
vented the outbreak. Yield they must, but submis- 
sion came too late. They themselves had backed 
the waters till, when the barriers gave way, the flood 
must sweep every thing under. But to acknowledge 
this was to admit the danger which now threatens 
England, and sanction the Chartists in their cease- 
less petitions to the ^throne and Parliament for 
reform. 

Carrying out his monarchical sympathies, Mr. Ali- 
son also charges on democracy the blood and devas- 
tation that followed in the wake of the Revolution. 
He gives us a synopsis of the declaration of the 
" Rights of Man," by the Assembly, in which he 
says, " it declares the original equality of mankind ; 
that the ends of the social union are liberty, pro- 
perty, security, and resistance to oppression ; that 
sovereignty resides in the nation, and every power 
emanates from them ; that freedom consists in doing 
every thing which does not injure another ; that law 
is the expression of the general will ; that public 



154 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

burdens should be borne by all the members of the 
state in proportion to their fortunes ; that the elec- 
tive franchise should be extended to all; and that 
the exercise of natural rights has no other limits but 
their interference with the rights of others." "In 
these positions, considered abstractly," says Mr. 
Alison, "there is much in which every reasonable 
man must acquiesce." We say, on the contrary, 
that every "reasonable man must acquiesce" in the 
whole, "abstractly." There are no plainer principles 
in human logic. They are axioms, considered "ab- 
stractly" no man can doubt, while we believe they 
are not only "abstractly" but practically true. 
They rest at the very foundation of our government, 
and if they be not true our government is a lie. 
The want of means in carrying them out does not 
prove their falsity, but the power of man to turn his 
greatest blessings into evils. Yet, reasonable as he 
admits some of them to be, considered "abstractly," 
he calls them, in another place, " a digest of an- 
archy." Then the Declaration of Independence, and 
the Constitution of the United States, is "a digest 
of anarchy;" an assertion which the history of our 
country, for the last fifty years, fully ■ contradicts. 
To this "digest of anarchy," this explosion of demo- 
cracy, he attributes all the horrors of the Revolution. 
He devotes whole pages to very grave and very sad 
reflections upon it; and at the end of almost every 
chapter on this period, he pours forth his " note of 
woe" on the acts of republicanism. Now, no one 
doubts the danger of suddenly giving too much 



ALISON S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 155 

power and freedom to slaves. The eye long accus- 
tomed to darkness, cannot bear immediately the full 
sj3lendor of noonday. The oppression of centuries, 
when suddenly broken, does not end in calm and in- 
telligent action. We do not find fault with Mr. Ali- 
son for preaching this doctrine, but for preaching 
this alone. There are three other great truths to be 
considered in connection with this, before we can 
form a correct judgment upon it. In the first place, 
if democracy did start this long array of ills, is that 
its natural action, or is it the re-action of something 
else? Was it not human nature, long chained, and 
scourged, and trampled on, suddenly taking ven- 
geance on its oppressors, and wiping out with one. 
bloody stroke the long arrears of guilt ? Were the 
horrors of the Revolution the result of democracy 
merely, or of vengeance? Is it to be wondered at, 
that the captive, so long bound and goaded to mad- 
ness, should fling abroad his arms a little too wildly 
at the first recovery of his freedom, and shake the 
bars of his cage a little too roughly? We believe 
the great truth, after all, to be drawn from that 
bloody tragedy, is the evils of long oppression, and 
not the evils of giving man his rights. The primal 
ultimate cause is the one that should have engaged 
Mr. Alison's attentions and reflections, and not the 
secondary proximate cause. The youth of the world 
should learn a different lesson than that taught by 
his history. 

In the second place, granting that the crimes and 
violence of the Revolution did naturally and entirely 



156 Alison's history of Europe. 

grow out of republicanism, we believe they did not 
begin to compare with the misery and suffering 
caused by the tyranny that preceded it. One mil- 
lion is supposed to have perished during the Reign 
of Terror. Frightful as this waste of life and happi- 
ness is, we do not believe it is the half of that pro- 
duced by the reign of despotism. The guillotine 
loaded with human victims — whole crowds of men, 
women, and children shot down in the public streets, 
and the murders and massacres on every side, that 
made France reek in her own blood, make the world 
stand aghast — for the spectacle is open and public. 
We have seen every one of that million cut down by 
the sword of violence, but the thrice one million that 
have perished, one by one, during the antecedent 
ages, under the grinding hand of oppression, and 
slow torture of famine, and all the horrors of a 
starved people, dying silently, and in every hovel of 
the land, we know nothing of. Generation after 
generation melted away, whose cries of distress no 
ear ever heard but that of Him who in the end 
avenges the helpless. Let Mr. Alison utter his 
lamentations over these millions who died none the 
less painfully because they perished silently, as well 
as over the victims of the Revolution. 

But, in the third place, we deny the former suppo- 
sition to be true, believing that the great danger of 
giving the ignorant masses sudden freedom arises 
from two causes. The first, is the strong sense of re- 
tributive justice in the human bosom.- Assuming the 
doctrine, "an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a 



ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 157 

tooth," to be just, they will at once turn round and 
spoil their spoilers. The desperation of famine, guid- 
ed by this feeling, shed the first blood in Paris. The 
second and continuing cause arises from tyranny 
itself. The love of power may be as dominant in 
the heart of a peasant as of a prince. There are 
multitudes that want only the opportunity to become 
despots. They are not all tyrants who by nature 
are fitted to be. All they need to make them enact 
the same follies and crimes the titled and legalized 
tyrants are committing before them, is the means of 
doing it. These men flourish in revolution. If pos- 
sessed with energy and skill, they will lead the 
blind and ignorant masses where they please. *Ap- 
pealing to their prejudices and passions, and fears of 
renewed oppression, they excite them to renewed 
massacres and bloodshed. This was the case in 
Paris, and the horrors enacted during the Reign of 
Terror were not so much the work of democrats as 
aristocrats. We are to look for the causes of ac- 
tions, not in men, but the principles that guide them. 
Who looks upon Robespierre, Danton, Marat, Cou- 
thon, and Barre're, as republicans. They were such 
men as the despots of the world are made of. Seek- 
ing the same ends with those who had crushed France 
so long — namely, power at whatever cost — they 
made use of the passions of the mob to elevate 
themselves. By inciting their revenge and fears, 
and feeding their baser desires, they both ruled and 
trampled on them. It was ambition and tyranny 
that drenched Prance in blood — the same that had 

14 



158 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

reduced it to starvation, only by different means. 
In the one case they were manifested through the 
steady action of an oppressive government, in the 
other through the passions of a mob. The love of 
equality and the love of power are two very different 
things. Tyranny is no less tyranny because it puts 
on the cap of liberty ; and despotism is just the same, 
whether it seeks its ends through authority or vio- 
lence. 

This inability on the part of Mr. Alison to see any 
virtue in republicanism, forces him into statements 
that are calculated to mislead his readers in that 
most important truth now before the world — the pro- 
gress and tendency of the democratic spirit among 
men. Wrong may be done to individuals in belying 
their motives, and injustice to military leaders by 
depriving them of their just reward of praise; but 
these are small errors compared to the wrong of 
charging on liberty crimes she never committed, and 
loading her with epithets she never deserved. It 
is for this reason our remarks seem to be aimed at 
one point. This is the great error of Mr. Alison's 
work, and there could be no greater. He incurs a 
heavier responsibility who teaches us wrong on the 
great doctrine of human freedom, than he who errs 
on all other points beside. Were this sympathy of 
his for monarchical institutions kept within ordinary 
bounds, we should say nothing ; but he travels out of 
his way to strike republicanism ; and whenever the 
plain facts he relates might be construed contrary to 
his wishes, he obtrudes on us a long list of reflections, 



Alison's history or europe. 159 

often, it is true, very stupid, but sometimes exceed- 
ingly plausible. This tendency of his is a matter of 
feeling, rather than judgment, and hence leads him 
into endless blunders and contradictions. 

After devoting one chapter to the disastrous cam- 
paign of 1793, the first under the Republic, he closes 
with six reflections, among which (No. 2) is the fol- 
lowing : " These considerations are calculated to 
dispel the popular illusions as to the capability of 
an enthusiastic population alone to withstand the 
attacks of a powerful regular army." And what is 
the ground of this sage . conclusion ? Why, this cam- 
paign, planned and appointed while France was heav- 
ing like the breast of a volcano to the fires that raged 
within her, badly conducted, and feebly prosecuted, 
had been disastrous to the French army. It is a 
hasty conclusion, not only groundless in this case, 
but false in every way. There can be no rule laid 
down in such matters ; but as far as history can 
settle it, it proves directly the reverse. Look at the 
wars of the Tyrol and Switzerland, in which rude 
peasants, led on by such men as Tell and Winkelrid, 
overthrew the best disciplined armies on the conti- 
nent. Go over our own battle-fields, where valor and 
enthusiasm triumphed over troops that had stood 
the shock of the firmest battalions of Europe. But 
it is not with the principle we quarrel, so much as 
the inference he wishes to have drawn from it. In 
the very next chapter, devoted to an account of the 
Vendean war, he give us a most thrilling description 
of the valor and enthusiasm of the peasants. Army 



160 alison's history of europe. 

after army sent to subdue them were utterly annihi- 
lated. The peasants of Vendee, according to Mr. 
Alison, were rude and " illiterate, ignorant of mili- 
tary discipline," and of the most ordinary rules of 
war, yet they fought six hundred battles before they 
were subdued. Occupied on their farms, they con- 
tinued their peaceful labors till it was announced an 
army was on their borders. Then the tocsin sounded 
nTevery village, and the church bells rang out their 
alarum, and the peasants, armed with pikes, pitch- 
forks, muskets, and whatever they could place hands 
on^ flocked from every quarter to the place of rendez- 
vous. Thus armed and organized, they offered up 
their vows to the Supreme Being, and while the 
priests and women were assembled in prayer, fell 
with the might of a brave and enthusiastic people on 
their foe, and crushed them to pieces. Astonished 
at these victories, the French government gathered 
its best armies around this resolute province till 
100,000 men hemmed it in, some of them composing 
the choicest troops of France. The tocsin again was 
sounded, and the alarm bells rang, and the peasants 
assembled, and the armies were routed. Without 
cannon, without discipline, they boldly advanced 
against the oldest battalions of France. On the 
open field they marched up in front of the artillery, 
and, as they saw the first flash, prostrated them- 
selves on their faces, and when the storm of grape 
had passed by, rose and fell like an avalanche on 
their foes, .charging the cannoniers at their own 
pieces, and trampling down the steady ranks .like* 



ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 161 

grass beneath their feet. Prodigies of valor were 
wrought, and acts of heroism exhibited in this war, 
to which the history of the world scarcely furnishes 
a parallel. The population, men, women, and child- 
ren, turned out en masse at the first alarm. Every 
hut sent forth a soldier, till an army of forty or fifty 
thousand men stood ready to march in any direction. 
Yet so undisciplined were they, that, as soon as the 
enemy were routed and driven from their province, 
they disbanded to their homes till another army made 
its appearance. 

Speaking of their bravery and success, Mr. Ali- 
son says : " Thus was the invasion of six armies, 
amounting to 100,000 troops, part of whom were the 
best soldiers of France, defeated, and losses inflicted 
on the republicans, incomparably greater than they 
had suffered from all the allies put together since the 
commencement of the war — a memorable instance of 
what can be effected by resolute men, even without 
the advantages of regular organization, if ably con- 
ducted against the most formidable superiority of 
military force" And in speaking of the expedition 
of the Yendean army beyond the Loire, whither they 
had gone expecting to meet the English under Lord 
Moira, he says, this army, before it fell — " without 
magazines or provisions, at the distance of forty 
leagues from its home, and surrounded by three hos- 
tile armies, marched one hundred and seventy leagues 
in sixty days, took twelve cities, gained seven battles, 
killed twenty thousand of the republicans, and took 
from them one hundred pieces of cannon, trophies, 

14* 



162 ALISON'S HISTORY OP EUROPE. 

greater than were gained by the vast allied armies in 
Flanders during the whole campaign." This war of 
peasants with veteran troops, marked by such bravery 
and enthusiasm on the one side, and such atrocities 
on the other, furnishes Mr. Alison with excellent 
materials for his accustomed quota of reflections ; 
and what are they? — "Such," he says, " were the 
astonishing results of the enthusiastic valor which 
the strong feelings of loyalty and religion produced 
in this gallant people; such the magnitude of the 
result, when, instead of cold calculation, vehement 
passion was brought into action." Place this philo- 
sophic and moral reflection beside the one we quoted, 
as made the close of the first campaign of the 
Kepublic against the allied forces on the Khine. 
" These considerations are calculated to dispel the 
popular illusion, as to the capability of an enthusiastic 
population alone to ivithstand the attacks of a power- 
ful regular army." We hardly know which to admire 
most here, the awkward look of this Janus-headed 
philosophy, or the solemn assurance with which the 
contradictory faces look down on us. But what is 
the reason of this strange twist in his logic ? Simply 
this : when speaking of the defeat of the Republicans 
in their contests with the allied forces, it was the en- 
thusiasm of democrats against disciplined royalists ; 
in the other case, the enthusiasm of royalists against 
disciplined democrats. A " popular illusion" be- 
comes a grave fact with Mr. Alison, in the short 
space of one chapter, and the " enthusiasm and 
valor" of republicans and royalists has an entirely 



Alison's history of Europe. 163 

different effect on the serried ranks of a veteran 
army. But the flat contradiction he here gives him- 
self, is of no great consequence, only as it illustrates 
our first statement, that he cannot be relied on in 
those cases where monarchical and republican prin- 
ciples <or men come in collision. The deductions of 
such a man are false and injurious, and the same 
spirit that can make them will purposely or involunta- 
rily alter facts. 

But his sympathy with monarchy is not stranger 
than his sympathy with England ; and we find that 
no trust can be placed in him, whenever, in his nar- 
rative, his own government and country are contrasted 
with others. His account of the Irish Rebellion, 
during this period, and indeed his whole description 
of the affairs of that unhappy country, are' shamefully 
false ; and we must believe, in charity, that Mr. Ali- 
son never thoroughly studied the history of Ireland. 
He was too much occupied in tracing the marches 
and battles of those armies that shook Europe with 
their tread, to devote much time or space to the 
struggles of a few millions of Irishmen. We should 
be indignant with the heartlessness evinced in his 
opening paragraph on the history of Ireland, were it 
not for the ludicrous solemnity with which the words 
are uttered. " In surveying the annals of this un- 
happy country, it appears impossible, at first sight, 
to explain the causes of its suffering, by any of the 
known principles of human nature. Severe and con- 
ciliatory policy seems to have been equally unavailing 
to heal its wounds — conquest has failed in producing 



164 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

submission, severity in enforcing tranquillity, indul- 
gence in awaking gratitude." There spoke the self- 
complacent Englishman. With what a patronizing 
air, and deploring tone, he refers to this " unhappy 
country," and how utterly unable to account for its 
ill-will. We cannot sympathize with Mr. AKson in 
his surprise ; for, in all our knowledge of the history 
of nations, we have never read of such -national per- 
fidy, and oppression, and cruelty so long continued, 
as the whole history of the English and Irish connec- 
tion presents. How England could have heaped more 
insults, and wrong, and misery on Ireland than she 
has, without exterminating her, we are unable to see. 
" The first British sovereign," says Mr. Alison, 
"who directed his attention to the improvement of 
Ireland, was James I. He justly boasted, that there 
would be found the true theatre of his glory, and 
that he had done more in a single reign for the im- 
provement of that important part of the empire than 
all his predecessors, from the days of Henry II." 
And what was the result of all this kindness on the 
part of James I. " Instead of increased tranquillity 
and augmented gratitude, there broke out, shortly 
after, the dreadful Rebellion of 1641, which was only 
extinguished in oceans of blood." Poor return this 
for the kindness of the indulgent monarch. But in 
what consisted the kindness of King James, that it 
so outshone all that had been done by his predecessors 
since Henry II., and which, instead of awakening 
gratitude, exasperated the Irish to rebellion ? Eliza- 
beth had commenced an extensive scheme of confis- 



ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 165 

eating Irish estates ; but as she approached her grave 
her injustice alarmed her fears, for she thought of 
that tribunal above all earthly tribunals, and imme- 
diately gave order to have the confiscation stopped, 
and some of the estates restored. The very first act 
of kind King James was to recommence this plan of 
confiscation. The Earls of Tyrone and Tyrconnel 
first fell beneath his hand. Under the pretext that 
they were engaged in a Catholic conspiracy, which 
was not only never proved, but never, attempted to be 
proved, all the land of which they were chiefs, to the 
amount of 500,000 acres, fell to King James. Hav- 
ing accomplished this benevolent act, he undertook 
to establish an English colony there, but fearing the 
Irish Parliament would defeat his plans, he created 
forty boroughs at once in order to have a majority in 
the House. This was very kind of the king, but his 
kindness did not stop here. The next act was to ap- 
point a commission " for the discovery of defective 
titles" in Irish estates. A band of " discoverers," 
who were rewarded according to their success, went 
through the country prying into the private affairs 
of the nobility, and wringing from them large sums 
as fees to pay for not being robbed. But witnesses 
had also to be suborned, bribes and tortures and vio- 
lence used, till the annual expense of carrying out 
this kingly robbery amounted to ,£16,000, or nearly 
$80,000, more than the whole revenue of Ireland. 
The next kind act of this king of blessed memory, 
was to start a scheme to get the whole province of 
Connaught into his royal hands. The proprietors of 



166 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

the land becoming alarmed, offered to the covetous 
monarch ,£10,000 to let them alone ; and while he 
was balancing between the money in hand and the 
whole province of Connaught in prospect, the "King 
of kings" summoned him away from the throne he 
had stained with injustice and blood. We confess 
the Irish were not eminently grateful for the espion- 
age, confiscation, and robbery, that James graciously 
granted them, and it is difficult for us to see on what 
" principles of iuman nature" they should be. It is 
equally untrue that the Rebellion followed this extra- 
ordinary generosity of James. The Rebellion did not 
take place till after the accession of Charles I. To 
save themselves in future, a large meeting of gentle- 
men was held in Dublin, at which a bill of rights was 
drawn up, entitled " Graces." The king's signature 
to this was asked, and a promise given of an amount 
of £50,000 for the use of the crown. The king gave 
his promise, took the money, and then refused to grant 
the * Graces." On the top of this falsehood, the 
Earl of Strafford began to carry out James' plan of 
the settlement of Connaught. This was followed by 
robberies and injustice in the shape of confiscations, 
backed by 500 horsemen, till the indignation of the 
people broke over all bounds ; and then the Rebellion 
commenced, and not till then. We charge Mr. Alison 
here with more than ignorance. He has misstated 
some of the most obvious facts in English history. 
There is not a tyro in history unacquainted with the 
perfidy of the English government towards Ireland, 
and that she has never granted her any privileges 



ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 167 

until they were wrung out by stern necessity and the 
threatened horrors of a civil war. If Lord Castle- 
reagh could rise from his suicidal grave, he could 
whisper some truths in Mr. Alison's ear, that might 
enlighten his conscience, if not affect his narrative. 

To go over the mere enactments against Ireland, 
would be the severest argument against all that Mr. 
Alison has said. From the statute of Kilkenny, in 
136T, which declared "that if any of English descent 
should use an Irish name, the Irish language, or ob- 
serve Irish customs, he should forfeit his estates until 
security was given for his conformity to English 
habits;" and in which it was forbidden "to entertain 
any native minstrel or story-teller, or to admit an 
Irish horse to graze in the pasture of an English sub- 
ject;" to the carrying of the Union by 50,000 troops, 
and bribes to the amount of $5,000,000, under the 
infamous Castlereagh, and the breaking of the solemn 
promise that the exchequers should be kept separate, 
the acts of the government of England have been 
worthy the worst days of the Inquisition. The bar- 
barous massacres that have been perpetrated by suc- 
cessive monarchs, the repeated confiscations of a large 
portion of the entire island, the robbing her of her 
legislature by fraud and violence, the oppressive ac- 
tion of the tithe system, and the drainage of nearly 
six millions annually, by absenteeism; and the scorn, 
and injustice, and contumely, heaped on her for cen- 
turies, have so exasperated the people, that there is 
constant and terrible danger of outbreaks. As a 
conclusion of all this, Mr. Alison declares it to be an 



168 alison's history of europe. 

incontestable fact, that Irelend is unfit for a popular 
government, and that a "wise philanthropy" dictates 
that she should now " receive, .for half a century, a 
wise, humane, but despotic government." Were the 
English statesmen such fools as to believe this, we 
should have one of the bloodiest massacres that ever 
stained the pages of history. He seems utterly un- 
conscious of the progress of the human mind towards 
its rights ; and imagines that it needs only a few bay- 
onets to arrest all its inquiries, and check all its im- 
pulses. He speaks in the same manner of the Ca- 
tholic Emancipation Bill ; and though he acknowledges 
the principle to be true in the abstract that religious 
opinions should not subject a man to civil disabilities, 
yet the result has proved that, in the case of Ireland, 
this act of simple justice was unwise ; for, instead of 
pacifying the country, it has only taught it to increase 
its demands, till now the cry of repeal swells over 
the land. It may have been unwise ; but all the aris- 
tocracy of England could not delay it, without com- 
mencing a massacre that would have loaded England 
with endless infamy, and brought down on her the 
curses of the civilized world. Is Lord Broughham's 
history of this fearful excitement a fiction? The 
petition accompanying this bill was rejected by Par- 
liament on the very grounds Mr. Alison presents at 
this late day. This was in the winter; but during 
the summer, agitation and excitement increased to 
such an alarming extent, and the petition came back 
multiplied by so many voices, and with so stern and 
fierce an aspect, that noble lords began to balance 



Alison's history of eueope. 169 

between a civil war and an act of the plainest justice. 
The next winter passed away in uttering just such 
arguments as Mr. Alison now claims to be so weighty ; 
but on the return of spring, it became evident that 
a revolution was inevitable without the passage of 
the bill, and it passed. There was no other choice in 
the case. We remarked the same unconsciousness of 
the inevitable tendency of the spirit of the age in 
which he lived, when speaking of the French Revo- 
lution. Again and again he puts his finger on the 
very point where the Revolution could have been 
arrested with the utmost ease — nay, in one instance, 
he asserts that the Vendean peasantry could have 
marched into Paris and re-erected the Bourbon throne. 
He seems to have about the same idea of the provi- 
dence of God in this struggle of man for his rights, 
that Moreau had of it in battle, when he said he 
usually found it favored the strong battalions. 

A revolution in France was as inevitable as fate 
itself. Oppression and suffering had reached the 
point of despair. Beyond that they never go. In 
the same spirit, and in the same ignorance, he speaks 
of the Reform Bill ; starting with the principle, that 
the true idea of government is to have the " greatest 
amount of freedom with the least minimum of demo- 
cracy," and that clamors for reform should never be 
granted except when there are real grievances, he 
condemns the expediency of the passage of the Re- 
form Bill. It was, he declares, a mere aggression of 
the democratic spirit, which should have been met and 
stifled at once ; for to yield to its demands, is only 

15 



170 Alison's history of Europe. 

learning it to make greater demands, as subsequent 
history has shown. This theory is correct, when ap- 
plied to a feudal government. We do not object to 
the logic, but t& the belief that it could be practically 
carried out. The aristocracy of England reasoned 
precisely in the same way, and soundly, too ; but 
they found a spirit abroad stronger than their logic. 
The foe they had to contend with was not one of bone 
and muscle, that could be thrust through with the 
bayonet, or suffocated in prison. Macauley knew 
it, when he thundered forth in the House of Com- 
mons, "through Parliament or over Parliament this 
bill will pass." Earl Grey knew it, when he resigned 
the premiership because the bill could not pass ; and 
when recalled, made its passage the condition of his 
return, declaring that otherwise he could not save 
England from a civil war. Of this stern necessity, this 
absolute omnipotence of the spirit that is now abroad 
in the world, Mr. Alison seems entirely unconscious. 
His remedy for democracy, in all its stages and 
movements, is physical force ; and, so far as his doc- 
trines have influence on the continent of Europe, 
they will augment the present evils, and hence in- 
crease the violence of their ultimate cure. 

It is a relief to turn from these events, in the nar- 
rative of which Mr. Alison's prejudiced feelings so 
bias his high judgment and truth, to those stirring 
scenes which made Europe for nearly thirty years 
one wide battle-field. While Mr. Alison stands and 
looks off on the continent, after Bonaparte's star 
arose in the troubled heavens, his English sympathies 



Alison's history of europe. 171 

do not put such obstacles in the way of relating facts. 
Especially after Bonaparte shows his aristocratic pend- 
encies, does he exhibit for him a high admiration. 
The heroic character of the conqueror of so many 
battles, necessarily wakens, in one of Mr. Alison's 
poetic temperament, an interest which is quite strong 
enough to secure fair treatment from him. He does 
Napoleon full justice ; and if he errs at all, does so 
in making him too unlike ordinary mortals. In the 
description of a battle, we have never seen Mr. Ali- 
son's superior. Before his excited imagination the 
field rises again with all its magnificent array. He 
looks on the formation of the line, the moving of the 
columns, the charge of the cavalry, and all the uproar 
and thunder of battle, with the eye of a poet. He 
beholds nothing but heroism in the commonest soldier, 
if he but fights bravely, and the trade of war is to 
him a splendid tragedy. This vividness of imagina- 
tion and excitement of feeling give to his descriptions 
a life, that, for the time, makes them passing realities. 
They throw over his narrative also the charm of fresh- 
ness ; and his style, which, when he endeavors merely 
to write elegantly, is bombastic, becomes clear and 
vigorous. How much allowance is to be made for his 
imagination is not so easy to say, and we suspect 
that most of his readers would rather be wrong on 
some details than lose the vividness of the picture. 
The mere historic parts being only a compilation from 
other works, they owe their chief excellence to the 
charm of Mr. Alison's style. The work also is the 
only English one devoted to those thirty years that 



172 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

witnessed the rise and glory and downfall of the 
French empire. Perhaps no better will be written ; 
yet Mr. Alison owes more than is generally con- 
ceded to the period he has chosen for his history. 
Thirty years of such stirring scenes, lofty achieve- 
ments, and awful disaster, the earth never before wit- 
nessed. First comes the French Revolution, that 
terrific explosion that buried the king, the throne, 
the aristocracy, and a million of men in one bloody 
grave. Its scenes of violence and massacre, its exhi- 
bitions of valor and affection, and desperation and 
ferocity, make the difficulty of the historian to consist 
in knowing what to reject rather than what to choose. 
Next rises before us that strange being, so power- 
ful for evil or for good, Napoleon Bonaparte, who 
afterwards scarcely leaves the field of vision, till he 
disappears for ever in the war-cloud of Waterloo. 
The campaign of Italy follows in quick succession, 
with its bloody field of Marengo, and Novi, and Areola, 
and Lodi. Scarcely has the battle-cloud swept from 
the empire- of the Caesars, revealing a new dynasty 
there, before the gleaming of French lances is seen 
around the pyramids of Egypt. Spain is covered 
with battle-fields — the Alps with mighty armies, 
struggling where the foot of the chamois scarce dares 
to tread. Jena, and Austerlitz, and Wagram, and 
Borodino, rise, one after another, before our aston- 
ished sight, and Moscow's towers blaze over the army 
of the empire. Never before were such materials 
furnished, ready made, to the historian. All varieties 
of war — from the ferocious and headlong violence of 



ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 173 

the mob round the palaces of Paris, to the encounter 
of the steadiest armies of Europe — from the wild 
charge of the Cossack on the plains of Russia, to 
the fiery valor of the Turkish cavalry in the deserts 
of Egypt, we see every shade and degree and quality 
of combat. The same is true of the scenery amid 
which all this is laid. Amid the glaciers of the Alps 
and the vineyards of Italy — on the sierras of Spain 
and the sands of Egypt — amid the heat of the desert 
and the snows of a Russian winter — on the Niemen, 
and Danube, and Rhine, and Tiber, and ancient Nile, 
is seen the march of armies and heard the thunder 
of battle. And seldom does the world witness such 
distinguished men as moved amid these scenes. There 
were Pitt, and Burke, and Fox, and Talleyrand, and 
Ney, and Murat, and Moreau, and Lannes, and Mac- 
donald, and Wellington, and Bonaparte. And never, 
in modern history, were such results accomplished. 
A common soldier rises to the empire of half of 
Europe — thrones are overthrown, kings discrowned, 
dynasties changed, and the oldest monarchies of 
Europe on their knees before a single adventurer. 
The strange spectacle of kings searching round their 
overturned thrones for their fallen crowns — princes 
begging for bread through the civilized world, and 
Europe shaking to the tread of a single man, is here 
presented for the first time to our astonished view. 
We behold the power of kings broken, and hear the 
final knell of tyranny rung. And all this is seen 
amid the tumult of battle, where prodigies of valor are 
performed, unparalleled in the history of man. The 

15* 



174 Alison's history of europe. 

peasants of "Vendee fight and fall about their homes 
with the heroism of the Spartan band at Thermopylae. 
Bonaparte drags his artillery over the Alpine pass 
that Hannibal trod before him. Macdonald fights 
with the avalanche that bears down whole companies 
by his side, or leads his mighty column straight into 
the murderous fire of the enemy, leaving in his path 
a swath of his dead followers, as he moves, till only 
fifteen hundred are left around him. Undaunted and 
unscathed, he still pushes the torn head of his column 
into the enemy's lines, knowing that he carries an 
empire with him. Murat and the fiery Ney lead on 
their strong battalions where the bravest shrink ; and, 
last of all, come the heroic courage, the reckless dar- 
ing, and awful carnage of Waterloo. These scenes 
no pen can paint better than Mr. Alison's ; and had 
he but shown himself superior to the narrow prejudices 
of a bigot, and taken the trouble to inform himself 
on some points where his feelings have made his. facts, 
his history would have been as reliable as it is enter- 
taining. 

We might select from these pages descriptions that 
are perfect pictures, remaining among the distinct 
things of memory. There is Areola ; and Bonaparte 
standing on the bridge with the standard in his hand 
refusing to stir from the storm of shot that swept 
where he stood, till borne back by his own grenadiers. 
There is Wagram ; with the island in the Danube, 
converted for a while into a theatre, where geniu3 
wrought like magic ; and beside it the battle-field, with 
Bonaparte on his milk-white charger, slowly riding 



ALISON'S HISTORY OP EUROPE. 175 

backwards and forwards before his lines that winced 
to the murderous fire of the enemy's artillery — him- 
self undaunted and unharmed, though the grapeshot 
rattled like hailstones around him. There, too, are 
Eylau, Borodino, and Austerlitz, and there the mighty 
columns of France disappearing, one after another, 
in the heavy snow-drifts of Russia. These are vivid 
sketches ; so also is the last interview of Bonaparte 
with Metternich, before the latter joined the allies. 
We see the bonfires kindled along the Bohemian 
mountains, announcing the joyful intelligence to the 
host that lay encamped in the valley beyond. The 
mad ride of Bonaparte to Paris, to save the city, that 
had already fallen into the hands of the enemy ; his 
uncontrollable impetuosity, that drove on his carriage 
till the axletrees took fire ; his fiery and characteristic 
soliloquy on the way, are all admirably drawn. 

But the campaign into Egypt brings out again his 
English sympathies, and his statistics differ, of course, 
from those of the French. So in the Peninsular cam- 
paign, he looks at the deeds and achievements of the 
English through a magnifying glass of huge dimen- 
sions, and at those of the French through the same 
glass inverted. He may think, however, he compen- 
sates for this by reversing the process, when he sur- 
veys the numbers, position, and comparative strength 
of the two armies. This double method of magnify- 
ing and dwindling makes quite a difference in the 
impression conveyed of this whole campaign. The 
same bias of his judgment by his feelings, is exhibited 
in his account of the battle of Waterloo. No one 



176 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

but an Englishman ever stood on that battle-field with 
the map of it in his hand — and even the English ac- 
count of it before him— without being convinced that, 
but for the timely arrival of Blucher, Wellington 
would have been defeated. Yet Mr. Alison declares 
that Bonaparte would have been repulsed had not 
Blucher arrived, and all that the latter accomplished 
was to convert the defeat into a total rout. The only 
fact he predicates this assertion on, is the repulse of 
the imperial guard before the junction of Blucher. 
But in the first place, Bonaparte would not have 
made that desperate charge at the time he did, but 
for the approach of the Prussians. It was done to 
force the English lines and place himself between the 
two armies that he might fight them separately, as he 
did at Novi. If Grouchy had kept Blucher in check, 
Bonaparte would have soon broke down the already 
exhausted English squares, and at a later moment led 
on his fresh indomitable guard to complete the victory. 
In the second place, although the guard was routed, 
they formed again into two immense squares, and 
endeavored to stay the reversed tide of battle ; and if 
Blucher had not been there, with his fifty thousand 
fresh troops, Wellington could not have followed up 
his success, and would have been compelled to remain 
as he had done all day, on the defensive. Wellington 
himself, in his despatches, says : " I should not do 
justice to my feelings, or to Marshal Blucher and the 
Prussian army, if I did not attribute the successful 
result of this arduous day to the cordial and timely 
assistance I received from them." (Wellington versus 



Alison's history of europe. 177 

Alison.) If there is one thing clear to the impartial 
mind, when standing on that field, it is that if Blucher 
had stayed away, as did Grouchy, or Grouchy came 
up, as did Blucher, Wellington would have been 
utterly routed. It was a desperate movement of the 
British general, to make the stand he did, and he 
knew it, and nothing but unforeseen circumstances 
saved him from ruin. The "stars" fought against 
Bonaparte on that day ; his career was run, and the 
hour of retribution had come. But with the whole 
continental struggle we have nothing to do. That 
Mr. Alison should often disagree with Jomini and 
other French historians, is natural. We do not pro- 
fess to have his knowledge of military tactics ; for 
there is not a battle lost by the allies in which he 
does not place his finger on the very point where the 
issue turned, and where ordinary clear-sightedness 
could not have redeemed the day. In reading his 
reflections on every engagement, the reader is forced 
constantly to exclaim, " What a pity Mr. Alison could 
not have been there — he could have so easily changed 
the result!" 

We have had to do simply with the impressions 
conveyed by this history — its philosophy and logic 
concerning the great question of republicanism ; for 
it would be impossible to embrace the whole work in 
the limits of a single article. Besides, the struggles 
of armies and nations may be falsified with compara- 
tive impunity ; but to be untrue when treating of the 
conflict between the two great principles of democracy 
and despotism, whose results are to reach remotest 



178 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

ages and affect the most intimate relations of society, 
is the worst crime a historian can commit in the pre- 
sent crisis of the worjd. We have gone over the 
history of Ireland and the French Revolution to show 
the strength of Mr. Alison's bigoted monarchical feel- 
ings, and how utterly unable or unwilling he is to see 
the truth when it conflicts with his prejudices. If his 
sympathies plunge him into inextricable blunders 
when writing of those nations, we are prepared for 
almost any amount of error in his accounts of the 
United States and the Last War. 

The chapter which opens our history is a specimen 
of his attempt at fine writing when he is not really 
excited. The whole of it is fitter for a popular de- 
clamation, or second-rate magazine, than grave his- 
tory. Does he wish to say that the waters of the 
Mexican gulf are clear, he says, "the extraordinary 
clearness of the water reveals to the astonished ma- 
riner the magnitude of its abysses, and discloses, even 
at the depth of thirty fathoms, the gigantic vegetation 
which, even so far beneath the surface, is drawn forth 
by the attraction of a vertical sun." Does he wish 
to state that beautiful islands are sprinkled over* its 
bosom, he says, " in the midst of these glassy waves, 
rarely disturbed by a ruder breath than the zephyrs 
of spring [wholly untrue, by the way] an archipelago 
of perfumed islands is placed, which repose like bas- 
kets of flowers on the tranquil surface of the ocean." 
Does he wish to inform us that grapes grow in pro- 
fusion on its shores, he says, " grapes are so plenty 
upon every shrub, that the surge of the ocean, as it 



Alison's history of Europe. 179 

lazily rolls in upon the shore with the quiet winds of 
summer, dashes its spray upon the clusters." This 
might adorn the maiden speech of a college sopho- 
more, or be a very fine paragraph with which to open 
a chapter of a novel, but in this place it is the merest 
"prose run mad." Alike inappropriate is his long 
description of our continent, and equally long disser- 
tation upon its early inhabitants. Such a duty be- 
longs to one who writes our history from the begin- 
- ning, and not to him who simply cuts out the Last 
War for his topic. Indeed, Mr. Allison seems so pro- 
foundly impressed with the magnitude and importance 
of his views on matters entirely irrelevant to his main 
purpose, that he takes vast semi-circles to bring them 
all in. After dilating with more poetry than pro- 
fundity on our savages, and describing our vast 
primeval forests, where, to use his own words, " the 
hatchet of the civilized man has never been heard," 
he comes to our present characteristics. At first, he 
endeavors to account for the vast difference between 
the condition of the inhabitants of the Canadian pro- 
vinces and those of our Northern States. We should 
expect here to find something said of our different 
forms of government, and the different character of 
those who landed on Plymouth Rock and those who 
first settled along the northern shores of the St. 
Lawrence. Not a bit of it — the chief cause of our 
pre-eminence in the States, he declares to be owing to 
our " paper credit ." And yet he makes this very 
"paper credit," that has wrought such wonders in 
our political and social condition, one of the great 



180 Alison's history of europe. 

inherent evils of our republican institutions. His 
philosophy is as flexible as his facts, and bends to 
any absurdity, however great, if it will only teach 
the one great lesson he is so profoundly impressed 
with — the evils of republicanism. Scarcely is he de- 
livered of this sage remark, before he tells us that 
labor is so much in demand here and so liberally re- 
warded, " that a widow with eight children is sought 
after and married as an heiress." The reader has 
scarcely time to awake from this new and astounding 
fact, before he goes on to state that the American 
agriculturist is wholly unlike those of all other lands, 
in that he has no attachment to the soil he occupies. 
The wandering propensities of our farmers are so 
strong, that he calls our social system " the nomade 
agricultural state !" If he made this assertion so 
strongly, in order to justify him in applying the new 
title he puts in capitals, we have nothing to say. But 
if he intended it for a fact, he has been very unfor- 
tunate in the authorities he has consulted. Heredi- 
tary feeling is also "unknown," so that there is no 
attachment to the old homestead or the old fixtures 
of our birthplace. So " wholly unknown," Mr. Alli- 
son declares it to be, that " even family portraits, 
pictures of beloved parents, are often not framed ; as 
it is well understood that, at the death of the head of 
the family, they will be sold and turned into dollars 
to be divided among the children !" We doubt whe- 
ther even Mrs. Trollope would swear to this state- 
ment, and Basil Hall himself would refuse to stand 
as authority for it. 



ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 181 

But having proved this deplorable state of our 
country by his own assertion, he adduces Mungo Park 
as evidence that even the most degraded and savage 
negro tribes of Africa possess, and in an eminent 
degree, this attachment so "wholly unknown" among 
us. This is truly a distressing picture of our condi- 
tion. Our large farming population is only a slightly 
improved breed of the Arabs, and go wandering about 
without a home — without any of those local attach- 
ments which make certain spots " Palestines and 
Meccas of the mind ;" — carrying their unframed pic- 
tures in their hands, haunted by the fear of the 
" dollars." Not wholly destitute of natural affection, 
which even the tiger and jackal have in common with 
us, we do afford "the pictures of our beloved parents," 
running the dreadful risk of the final partition — but 
the frames, the plain cherry-wood frames, costing four 
and sixpence, we refuse to buy, lest they be lost at last, 
by being divided among some "widow and eight chil- 
dren." There is doubtless, some profound philosophic 
principle lying at the bottom of this distinction to be 
made between the cost of the pictures and the cost of 
the frames, which Mr. Alison discovered by applying 
his monarchical stethescope to the breast of demo- 
cracy, as he has wronged us, and wronged the world, 
by not incorporating it in his history. It is fortunate 
the two facts, of a "widow with eight children" being 
an "heiress," and our strong Arabic tendencies, are 
put together ; otherwise, we might be overrun with 
poor English widows and their numerous progeny. 
Some few of these, from Leeds, Manchester, and Bir- 

16 



182 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

mingham, we have seen in our manufacturing dis- 
tricts, with even more than " eight children." and, 
heaven knows, they looked like any thing but " heir- 
esses." Tribe after tribe of our nomadic farmers had 
wandered past them without grasping the fortune. 
When our history becomes as old as the Roman his- 
tory now is, with what astonishment will man read of 
a state of society where a "widow and eight children" 
were looked upon as some "rice-freighted argosy." 

But notwithstanding the high price of labor, and 
the general competence that prevails in the rural 
districts, he adds, as an offset, that "pauperism 
exists to a distressing extent in many of the first- 
peopled States along the sea-coast, and nearly all 
the great commercial towns of the Union ; poor-rates 
are in consequence generally established, and benevo- 
lence is taxed nearly as severely as in the old mo- 
narchies and dense population of the European 
nations." This statement, standing alone and with- 
out explanation, is untrue ; for though as much 
money may be paid by the benevolent to relieve the 
poor in some of our cities, as in the cities of Europe, 
there is not a fourth part of the demand for it. 
Besides, poor-rates are not established at all, in the 
sense conveyed by the passage. The poor-rates of 
England are a thing unknown here. But, granting 
it all, from whence come these paupers ? From 
" the old monarchies, and out of the dense popula- 
tion of the European nations;"- — a fact Mr. Alison 
did not find it convenient to state. To say nothing 
of the continental nations that make a system of des- 



Alison's history of europe. 183 

patching their paupers and criminals to the United 
States, it needs but to look at England herself to find 
ample cause for the pauperism that is forced upon us. 
In one year, between June of 1835 and July of 1836, 
the Law Commissioners of England reported that 
seven thousand and seventy-five paupers were expa- 
triated at the cost of $196,000. The proportion 
that came here it is not difficult to conjecture. Lord 
Stanley declared, not long since, in the English Par- 
liament, that for five years, excepting 1838, the 
average amount of emigration to British America 
alone was from 75,000 to 80,090 annually. In 1840, 
there were 90,700 left England. In 1841, there 
were 118,475. In 1842, 15,000 left in April alone, 
and during the three months ending last June, 
25,008 arrived in New York city. The whole number, 
for the past year, is estimated at 59,000 to New York 
city alone. How many of these are paupers, or be- 
come so, may be inferred from the fact, that out of 
47,571 aliens arrived in one year, 38,057, soon after 
they landed, had no occupation. Place these facts 
beside the following table published in the American 
Quarterly Review of 1838 : — " In the city of New 
York, the following extracts have been obtained, 
illustrative of the comparative amount of poverty 
and crime, as existing among native Americans and 
foreigners, from all parts of the United States. 

Total. Foreigners. 

Penitentiary 593 203 over one-third 

Almshouse (adults) ...... 1355 969 " two-thirds 

" " (children) 772 579 " " 

Bellevue Hospital (sick) .... 238 170 " " 



184 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

Total. Foreigners. 

Bellevue Hospital (maniac) .... 17? 101 near two-thirds 

City Hospital (1833) , . . 1983 908 " one-third 

" " (actual state) .... 2034 1000 one-half 

City Dispensary (male indoor patients) 1126 563 " " 

" " (female) " " 1670 917 near three-fifths 

44 " (male outdoor) " 5555 3666 over " 

" " (female) " " 7876 4748 " " 

We have taken this table, ready furnished to our 
hand, to save the trouble of compiling one our- 
selves, and because it refers to that period on which 
Mr. Alison is supposed to have had his eye more par- 
ticularly, when he wrote his history. It is inevitable 
that pauperism should exist in our country, so long 
as England is allowed to deposit her tens of thou- 
sands of poor annually on our shore. The vessels 
from that land of liberty, where property and life are 
secure, and monarchy and aristocracy shower down 
their blessings on the people, and the wealthy church 
provides for the "gratuitous instruction of the poor," 
are like Alpine torrents, which descend in spring and 
deposit their mud in the fair valleys below. Vessels 
have arrived filled with paupers alone, and "the 
amount expended during seven years by the autho- 
rities of New York, for the support of foreign 
paupers, was $975,016 10,"* while our own country- 
men received but a third of that sum. " More than 
$50,000 is annually paid, by tax on the citizens of 
New York, for the support of foreign pauperism;" 
and, of the 2790 white adults in the Almshouse, 

* Vid. The Crisis. 



Alison's history of Europe. 185 

Asylum, and Penitentiary this year, 1881, or more 
than two-thirds, are foreigners. 

Let this ceaseless flow of paupers continue towards 
our shore a little longer, and Mr. Alison's words will 
be true, that "benevolence is as heavily taxed as in 
some of the old monarchies of Europe." He must, 
or should have known this state of things before 
speaking of pauperism in this country, and giving us 
credit for which he now places upon us as a 
stigma. They are your paupers, Mr. Alison, that 
"tax our benevolence" so heavily — Englishmen, 
filled with all the noble aspirations of British sub- 
jects, brought up under the blessed influence of a 
monarchy, aristocracy, .and church establishment, 
that choke our almshouses, live on our money, and 
darken our prospects. Your church, with its "gra- 
tuitous provisions for the instruction of the poor," 
leaves to our voluntary system to educate the tens of 
thousands she sends here in ignorance. 

And here, we would remark a great objection to 
the notes added in Mr. Harper's edition. They lack 
manliness and independence. For instance, the 
laughable assertion of Mr. Alison respecting our 
slight hereditary feeling is gravely met, and the 
division of family estates accounted for on the 
ground that we have seen the evils of primogeniture. 
So also is the charge that we have no literature, 
etc., refuted by a catalogue of our colleges, published 
books, &c. If Mr. Alison sees fit to make assertions 
so utterly destitute of delicacy and truth as these, 
they should be put in the catalogue of Trollopiana, 

16* 



186 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

and treated as such. He can, if he likes, gravely 
declare that we -are the Original types of Lord Mon- 
boddo's theory of the human race ; but it does not 
follow that we are soberly to set to work to prove 
that we are not monkeys, and hairy ; and give mea- 
surements and affidavits to show that we correspond 
to ordinary men. The historian is ridiculed in such 
cases, more than those he slanders. When speaking 
of the evils of republicanism, he draws still more 
largely on his fancy for facts, and says, " as a natural 
consequence of this state of things (referring to the 
practical action of the principle of equality), " there 
is, in opposition to the will, or passions of the majority, 
no security whatever, either for life or property, in 
America;" and again, "is life secure in the United 
States, when property is placed in such imminent 
peril? Experience, terrible experience proves the 
reverse ; and demonstrates, that not only is existence 
endangered, but law is powerless against the once 
excited passions or violence of the people. The 
atrocities of the French Revolution, cruel and heart- 
rending as they were, have been exceeded on the 
other side of the Atlantic." Much is to be allowed 
for the "extravagant assertions of a man of Mr. Ali- 
son's peculiarly excitable temperament and strong 
anti-republican feeling ; and we should feel inclined 
to put this down as one of his wild statements, made 
in a moment of irritability, did we not find the same 
declaration repeated and amplified in the concluding 
reflection of his work. He states there,' "that deeds 
of violence have been perpetrated in many parts of 



ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 187 

the United States, by the tyrant majority, with entire 
impunity ; of so frightful a character, that they ex- 
ceed in cruelty all the savage atrocity of the French 
Revolution, and have made the Americans fain to 
seek a parallel for them in the hideous persecutions 
and iniquities which have for ever disgraced the 
Roman Catholic religion." This reiteration and en- 
largement of the first assertion, destroys our charity ; 
and we charge on Mr. Alison here a deliberate and 
downright falsehood. We will not dwell a moment 
on the miserable subterfuge, that a negro has been 
burned alive, by a mob of excited men, for a crime 
almost unparalleled in its atrocity. The statement, 
as it stands, and the impression intended to be con- 
veyed by it, is utterly destitute of truth; and Mr. 
Alison knew it when he made it. It was an ebulli- 
tion of passion and fancy together, unworthy the 
writer of a pretended impartial history. Besides, he 
is testimony against himself in the case ; for in re- 
peated instances, when describing the atrocities of 
the French Revolution, he declares them without a 
parallel in the history of the world. 

Against the declaration that life and property are 
insecure we will make no defence, because it is mere 
assertion, which any one could have made just as 
easily, and no one left more unsustained by any proof 
but this we do say — for every man hilled in this 
country the last twenty years, by the violence of, the 
mob, we will find ten hilled in England by the same 
cause ; and for every dollar of property destroyed in 
the United States, by popular fury, we ivill show one 



188 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

hundred thus ivasted in England. If he could have 
once consented to leave the regions of fancy and gone 
into statistics, we would have offset them with an ac- 
count of the riots in Birmingham, Manchester, and 
Bristol; the mob in the Bull King, swaying like a 
forest to the tempest ; the night the Reform Bill was 
struggling through Parliament, and the " torch and 
dagger meetings" in every part of the kingdom. 

We might read "The People's Charter" aloud, 
striking at the very foundation of the English govern- 
ment ; and yet it was rolled into Parliament by 4000 
determined men, signed by 3,500,000 petitioners. We 
might describe the midnight heavens made lurid with 
the incendiary's torch over Birmingham ; the burning 
of the Parliament House and Guildhall ; the firing of 
York Cathedral, and the conflagration of the Armory 
of the Tower. We might point to the Duke of Wel- 
lington's house, still standing dilapidated, just as the 
mob left it; the meeting of 10,000 men in Manchester, 
solemnly pledging themselves to pay no more taxes ; 
the convocation of 26,000 on the hills of Acerington, 
swearing " they will never petition Parliament again, 
but will take redress into their own hands." We 
might quote Mr. Macaulay himself, when at midnight, 
while the confused sound of the mob was without, 
he concluded his thrilling speech on the Reform 
Bill with " through Parliament or over Parliament it 
must pass ;" or Lord Brougham, when he says, " those 
portentous appearances — the growth of "later times 
— those figments that stalk abroad, of unknown stature 
and strange form — union of leagues and mustering of 



ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 189 

men in myriads, and conspiracies against the ex- 
chequers — whence do they spring, and how come they 
to haunt our shore ? What power engendered those 
uncouth shapes? What multiplied the monstrous 
births, till they people our land ? Trust me, the same 
power which called into frightful existence and carried 
with resistless force the Irish volunteers of 1782; 
the same power which rent in twain your empire and 
raised up thirteen Republics ; the same power which 
created the Catholic Association and gave it Ireland 
for a portion. What power is that ? Justice deserted, 
rights withheld, wrongs perpetrated, the force which 
common injuries lend to millions." We might speak 
in detail of these things, and show where the balance 
lay of " security of life and property." We might 
describe the burning of the haystacks of the country, 
and the public edifices of the cities, all of which was 
u secure property.''' We might point to the deadly 
conflict of the populace with the soldiery, strewing the 
street with corpses ; the threats to assassinate the 
Duke of Wellington ; the murder of the Prime Minis- 
ter's Secretary in the streets of London ; the pistol- 
shot of Francis, that well-nigh rid England of her 
queen, to show how much more " secure" life was 
in England than here. If we could not with all these 
facts make good our assertion, we would throw in the 
massacres of Ireland, and the riots of Wales, to fill 
up the measure ; and show, by parity of reasoning, how 
insecure life and property were under a monarchy. 

If these evils were simply pointed out as things to be 
deprecated and remedied, we would take the correc- 



190 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

tion with becoming humility ; but they are exaggerated 
a thousand fold, and then all charged over to Liberty. 
They are not given as simple facts of history, but to 
show the peculiar working of democracy, and are 
declared the natural and monstrous offspring of our 
form of government. This we deny, and point to 
England to substantiate our denial. There are the 
same "uncouth shapes," multiplied and enlarged to a 
fearful extent ; and if it be just to make the govern- 
ment responsible for their existence, how stands the 
English monarchy ? After gathering up all the gossip 
and scattered rumors within his reach, and subjecting 
them to the coloring process of his own imagination, 
he triumphantly exclaims, " Here, then, is a country 
in which, if they ever had on earth, republican prin- 
ciples have enjoyed the fairest grounds for trial, and 
the best opportunity for establishing their benefits. 
They had neither a territorial aristocracy, nor a 
sovereign on the throne, nor a hereditary nobility, 
nor a national debt, nor an established church, which 
are usually held out as the impediments to the bless- 
ings of freedom in the Old World. How, then, has 
the republican system worked in this, the garden of 
the world and the land of promise ?" The question 
is answered in the asking, if his assertions be true ; 
without the trouble of stating, as he does, that it is 
an utter failure, and that freedom here is only a 
name with which to conjure up horrible shapes of 
evil. But looking at England, with the evils of our 
own country multiplied and enlarged, and with super- 
added diseases and miseries, under which she sickens 



ALISON'S HISTOEY OF EUROPE. 191 

and staggers like falling greatness, we, also, may put 
the question Mr. Alison deems so annihilating. To 
employ his own expression (though we beg pardon 
for writing so ungrammatical a sentence), Here, then 
is a country in which, if they ever had on earth, 
monarchical principles have enjoyed the fairest ground 
for trial and the best opportunity for establishing 
their benefits — they have had an aristocracy, a sove- 
reign, a throne, a hereditary nobility, a national 
debt, an established church, which are held out to be 
u no" impediments to freedom in the Old World. 
And how has the monarchical system worked here ? 
Let the Report of the Commissioners appointed to 
investigate the state of Ireland ; of those sent to in- 
quire into the condition of children employed in the 
mines and in the factories ; let the national debt 
itself, the starvation and suffering in every part of 
the land, forcing the inhabitants to other and freer 
states ; let the speeches of Brougham and Macaulay, 
and the writings of Carlyle, answer. As for ourselves, 
we believe this mode of reasoning on governments is 
unsafe, unless taken with great limitations. But if it 
be sound in one case it is in the other ; and Mr. Ali- 
son will find that his logic, like Saturn, devours its 
own children. If pauperism, suffering, popular out- 
breaks, agitation, and universal disquiet, are substan- 
tial arguments against the principles on which a gov- 
ernment is established, then the monarchy he declares 
to be a model for the world stands condemned for 
ever. 

As another instance of his novel mode of reasoning, 



192 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

<we give the following paragraph, designed as a backer 
to the assertion, " there is no independence of thought 
in America." "Is it as usual," he exclaims, "to see 
candidates for popular favor there, at public meetings, 
maintain monarchical and aristocratical opinions, as 
it is in Great Britain to see them support republican- 
ism ? Does the hall of Congress resound with argu- 
ments in favor of a mixed monarchy in preference to 
a republic, in like manner as the English House of 
Commons does with declarations in favor of demo- 
cratic and republican institutions?" After putting 
several questions of this sort in his eager way, he 
answers them himself, and declares, till this thing 
does happen, there is no "real freedom or independ- 
ence of thought" in America. We hardly know 
which astonishes us most, the absolute want of com- 
mon sense in this whole paragraph, or the stupidity 
of Mr. Alison in allowing it to be placed where it 
could throw such ridicule on himself. Does he not 
know that in every republican government, as well 
as limited monarchy, there are two parties, the more 
conservative and the more liberal? and that those who 
uphold a democratic form of government in England 
are advocating a great party measure in the kingdom, 
and it has no more to do with independence of thought 
or freedom of debate, than the discussion of the Re- 
form Bill? To adopt Mr. Alison's novel mode of 
reasoning, we might ask, Do we hear an unmixed des- 
potism advocated in England, as we do conservatism 
here ? Do the halls of Parliament " resound with ar- 
guments in favor" of a pure tyranny? Till this does 



ALISON'8 HISTORY OF EUROPE. 193 

occur, there can be no real " freedom and independ- 
ence of thought" in the British nation. Yet this 
question might have some force in the latter case ; for 
there are those in England who believe in a despot- 
ism, while there are none here who believe in a mixed 
monarchy. But until there are men found in the 
United States to admit what they believe a lie, and 
members of Congress plead for a doctrine the very 
first attempt to carry out which by others they would 
resist with their blood, there can be no " independ- 
ence of thought." He seems destitute of the ordinary 
sense of ordinary men, when speaking of this country. 
His want of judgment is only equaled by -his want 
of knowledge, and it surprises us how any literary 
man could be so ignorant of those things with which 
the English school children are familiar. How a 
man could so expose himself to ridicule by writing on 
topics he knows nothing of, is stranger than false- 
hood. He gravely speaks of the "two States of 
Massachusetts and New England." This he repeats 
twice, exhibiting an ignorance of geography that 
would have secured a pupil of one of our district 
schools a seat on the dunce block. Of the powers of 
the President, the manner of electing judges, and 
the Constitution itself, all of which he discourses 
about with the profoundest gravity, he knows no- 
thing. He makes Washington give the casting vote 
in Congress at the time he was President of the 
United States ; and, speaking of the separate States 
of the Confederacy, and their powers, he says, " So 
extensive and undefined are their powers, that it may 

17 



194 Alison's history of europe. 

be doubted whether they do not amount to those of 
declaring peace and war, and acting in all respects as 
independent States." It "may not be doubted" that 
they have power to rebel against the Union — so has 
Cornwall or Yorkshire to resist the English govern- 
ment ; but their powers are as well defined in this re- 
spect as words can make them; and if Mr. Alison 
had taken the trouble to read our Constitution (as 
we must in charity think he never has done) he would 
have found it expressly stated, that this power is 
vested in the President and Congress alone. If one 
had said that,, because there had been insurrections 
in Ireland, and resistance to authority in Wales 
and Birmingham, it "might be doubted" whether 
these separate portions of the kingdom had not power 
of declaring war, he would have made just as ridicu- 
lous a statement as Mr. Alison has done, and nc 
more so. But he evidently thought he was declaim- 
ing against the evils of republicanism before an as- 
sembly of ignorant Chartists — for, not content with 
ludicrous fiction, he seeks after the horrible, declar- 
ing u that murders and assassinations, in open day, 
are not unfrequent among the members of Congress 
themselves." Mr. Alison would put even an Italian 
editor to the blush — since the latter is careful only 
to leave out every item of news bearing favorably on 
our institutions, and give every account of a riot or 
misfortune; but the former makes facts to order, 
while he orders his own facts. But that we should 
be in so deplorable a state, Mr. Alison makes out to 
be most natural: " The American," says he, "has 



ALISON'S HISTORY OP EUROPE. 195 

no sovereign ; in him, the aspirations of loyalty are 
lost; the glow of patriotic devotion is diffused over 
so immense a surface as to be well-nigh evaporated. 
.In the Canadian, on the other hand, patriotism, is, in 
general, mingled with chivalry ; the lustre of British 
descent, the glories of British renown, animate every 
bosom, at least in the British race," so that " their 
character bears the same relation to the Americans 
that the Tyrolese do to the Swiss" — that is, they are 
a far more noble, brave, and patriotic race. These 
great and commanding features of the Canadian cha- 
racter are working such wondrous effects in the race, 
that (he continues) they " may in some future period, 
come to counterbalance all the riches of the basin of 
the Mississippi, and re-assert, in America, the wonted 
superiority of northern valor over southern opulence." 
We are glad Mr. Alison has opened our eyes to this 
impending danger, so that Congress may immediately 
set about strengthening the posts on our northern 
frontier. The irruption of these " Tyrolese of Ame- 
rica," has not, heretofore, been considered as a very 
proximate danger, and we trust that our representa- 
tives in Washington will attend to it, before they de- 
stroy themselves by mutual assassination. Our clergy 
and religious institutions fall also under his sweeping 
assertions. " Religion," he says, "has descended 
from its functions of denouncing and correcting the 
national vices, and become little more, with a few 
noble exceptions, of which Channing is an illustrious 
example, than the re-echo of public opinion." He 
adopts the sentiments of Miss Martineau (whose ram- 



196 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

bling sketches of society in the United States is, we 
verily believe, about the only book he has ever tho- 
roughly read on our country), in which she says that 
"the American clergy are the most backward and 
timid class in the society in which they live ; the least 
informed with true knowledge ; the least conscious of 
that Christian and republican freedom, which, as the 
natural atmosphere of piety and holiness, it is their 
prime duty to cherish and diffuse." This is not all: 
"The difficulties of the American church are yet to 
come." Now, the defence of the character of our 
religious institutions, as of our government, is one 
thing; the defence of the principles on which they 
are based, is another. These evils are not mentioned 
as historical facts, but brought in to prove his charges 
against a republican form of government; and to 
illustrate the evils of the voluntary system, and the 
necessity of an established church. They are con- 
demned as a part of the "republican system;" and 
he asks in triumph how it has worked in this " land 
of promise." Very poorly, to be sure, if Mr. Alison 
and a gossiping, garrulous woman are to be received 
as authority. Evil is inseparable from all institu- 
tions, and we do not claim exemption from the gene- 
ral law of nature, nor shall we attempt to disprove 
these allegations, but the argument he builds from 
them. We say that evils are attached to all systems. 
Mr. Alison declares that in this country, at least, 
they grow out of the system itself, and the form of 
government to which it is adapted. Before we try 
the other — the English system — which he affirms to 



alison's history of europe. 197 

be necessary, let us see how it works, and what sort 
of a church and clergy it gives us under a monarchy. 
The two great evils Mr. Alison charges on the Ame- 
rican church are: first, want of independence and 
faithfulness on the part of the clergy, in rebuking 
national sins; and, second, that it has no "gratuitous 
provision for the instruction of the poor." Both of 
these grow out of the voluntary system. The minis- 
ter deriving his support from the voluntary contribu- 
tions of his parish, he dare not do otherwise than 
re-echo their sentiments ; while the poor, having no- 
thing wherewith to pay, are bereft of the gospel. 

We might show how false are the impressions in 
this statement ; but, in order to see the beauty of Mr. 
Alison's conclusions, we will grant for the time being 
their truth, and inquire how much we should gain by 
adopting the English plan, which, we will allow, is 
not founded on republicanism or subject to its muta- 
tions. In the first place, the character of the Eng- 
lish clergy, as a mass, is known, the world over, to 
be any thing but apostolic ; and we cannot see how it 
could well be otherwise. The aristocracy of England 
hold half the livings of the church in their own hands, 
giving them to whom they please, and their spiritu- 
ality and love of plain, unpalatable truth, are known 
not to be peculiarly strong. No clergyman, who 
values his place, will offend his patron, by showing 
the abuses of the aristocracy and the tremendous tax 
it levies on the working classes. Besides, the fattest 
of these livings are given to the younger sons of 
nobility, through family or ministerial influence, who 

17* 



198 Alison's history of Europe. 

hire a curate, for a few hundred dollars, to perform 
the labor, while they spend the income on the con- 
tinent or in London. So generally does this custom 
prevail, that we find it stated in Hansard's Debates 
(authority which Mr. Alison will not presume to 
question), that out of 10,496 clergymen of the Estab- 
lished Church, only 4416 reside and labor among 
their people, while 6080 are out of their places, 
This naked fact more than offsets all he alleges 
against us, even if true ; for if the clergy are non- 
residents, it matters not what their character may 
be ; England and the world are none the wiser or 
better for it. Their thoughts may be free, but their 
" speech is never heard." These livings are some- 
times sold at auction, to the highest bidder. We 
have seen one advertised for sale in the London 
Times ; and, to increase its value, it was added that 
it was in the " immediate neighborhood of one or two 
of the first packs of fox-hounds in the kingdom." 
The annual income was about one thousand dollars 
per year. With this and the fox-hounds, the clergy- 
man could, doubtless, be sufficiently independent. 
We saw not long since, in the North Devonshire 
Journal, the following card: — 

" CLERICAL DINNER PARTY. 

"The sporting friends of the Rev. John Russel gave him a 
dinner on Friday last, at the Golden Lion, in this town, Barn- 
stable, on which occasion they presented him with a picture, 
by Mr. Lowden, of Bath, representing the reverend gentle- 
man, mounted on his favorite hunter, surrounded with his dogs. 
The likenesses are said to be faithful, particularly of his 



Alison's history of europe. 199 

horse, and the execution as highly creditable to the rising ar- 
tist. The picture was presented to Mr. Russel, as a tribute 
to his unwonted exertions in support of the sports of the 
field." 

A very independent and spiritually minded man. 
But the topic is too trite. Every one knows what 
the fox-hunting non-resident' clergy of England are. 
If he does not, we refer him to the columns of the 
Court Journal, where he will find what they are 
about, while the nation reels under suffering and op- 
pression, and her own clear-sighted statesmen look 
grave as they contemplate the future. More than 
one-third of the incumbents of the established church 
in Ireland, never reside in their parishes, while the 
revenues of some of the bishops are upwards of three 
hundred thousand dollars per annum.. The Beres- 
ford family receive nearly half a million per annum 
from the church, army, and navy, but chiefly from 
the church. The archbishops of Canterbury and 
York, have incomes of over two hundred and fifty 
thousand dollars. The bishops of Derry, Cloyne, 
Cashel, Cork, and Ferns, have an annual income to 
which the salary of the President of the United States 
is a mere fraction. That of the Bishop of London will 
soon be three hundred thousand dollars per annum. 
All these are the independent clergy, under an estab- 
lished church and a monarchy. The annual reve- 
nues to the church have been shone in a printed 
table, and they amount to the enormous sum of <£9,- 
459,565, or $45,405,912. The manner in which 
this is collected, proves that it is any thing but a 



200 Alison's histoey of europe. 

voluntary contribution. The helpless widow, and 
the poor dissenting clergyman, and his conscientious 
parishioner who have suffered distraint on property, 
and imprisonment, will bear witness it is not a volun- 
tary system. Nay, the cost and danger of collecting 
tithes in Ireland became so great that they have 
been commuted, that is, charged to the landlord, who 
must collect them without cost or danger to the gov- 
ernment. This immense revenue does certainly afford 
a rare opportunity for the " gratuitous instruction of 
the poor ;" but the poor of England feel that such 
religion is a poor return for famine. Untaught, un- 
fed, and unclothed, how can they be instructed by 
that church which plunders them. We have read 
the Reports of the British and Foreign School So- 
ciety, and have been astounded at the developements 
it makes of the ignorance of the lower classes. Out 
of 22,000 inhabitants in one parish of the city of 
Durham, only one in thirty receives instruction. 
Out of 6000 children in Wolverhampton, there is 
provision for the education of only one out of every 
nine. In Worcestershire, in sixty-six parishes, con- 
taining 14,000 inhabitants, there are only twelve 
schoolmasters, while in a territory of thirteen miles 
by seven, in Buckinghamshire, there was only one 
school where the poor could be taught. The same 
deplorable state of things existed in Bucks County, 
Berkshire, and Kent. This is "gratuitous provision" 
for the religious instruction of the poor, with a ven- 
geance. The truth is, the laborer of England is forced 
to the starving point, to furnish the very money by 



Alison's history of europe. 201 

which he is able to have this "gratuitous provision," 
which, after all, never reaches him. Half the money 
forced out of England by her tithe system would sup- 
ply every parish with a clergyman and schoolmaster, 
and leave an ample fund for the poor. If republi- 
canism saddled such a burden on us as the established 
church places on the neck of the British people, we 
should certainly cease to be republicans ; and if Mr. 
Alison wishes to convince the world of the evils of 
free government, and slander it beyond recovery, let 
it be charged with the curses which England inflicts 
on her subjects through her church. Her " gratui- 
tous provision" for the poor, is like the generosity of 
him, who 



-With one hand puts 



A penny in the urn of poverty, 

And with the other takes a shilling out." 

What the future may be, destiny alone will reveal ; 
but if the present state of the church and clergy in 
the two countries are conclusive arguments on the 
character and action of the respective governments, 
we tremble for Mr. Alison's model government. We 
believe the logic is unsound, applied in this unlimited 
way; but we will abide the conclusions, and then ask, 
as before, How stands the English monarchy ? 

As to the stereotyped charge, that there is no lite- 
rature in America, it has been so often refuted that 
we will not repeat the arguments furnished against it 
by the mere list of the works of American authors. 
England has been gathering up the treasures of her 



202 Alison's history of europe. 

great minds for centuries — the noblest legacy she 
■will leave to coming ages. To offer these by way of 
comparison to what we have been able to accumulate 
in sixty or seventy years may be very flattering to 
egotism, but it is very poor justice. We are to be 
judged not merely by what we have done, but the 
time we have had to do it in. This is the only just 
rule that can be applied to any nation, and yet it is 
a rule which no English critic has ever yet applied to 
us. 

The authority Mr. Alison often quotes is as laugh- 
able as his facts. Captain Marryat, who never wrote 
any thing but fiction ; Miss Martineau, who, with her 
ear-trumpet to her ear, went gossiping over the coun- 
try, and, like Pickwick, putting down as truth every 
monstrous story that a "Mississippi roarer" saw fit 
to entertain her with; Basil Hall, another captain, 
who was set ashore in a Mississippi swamp for his 
want of manners ; and, finally, the story of the little 
daughter of a milliner, boasting of her rank, and that 
she never " associated with a haberdasher's daugh- 
ter ;" these are given to substantiate the gravest as- 
sertions. We should not be surprised to find him 
quoting Mr. Gulliver, to prove some singular notion 
he may have of the inhabitants of Lilliput. The 
reason Mrs. Trollope does not figure more largely in 
this mass of nonsense — made up of blunders, false- 
hoods, ' ignorance, and simplicity, called history — is 
doubtless owing to the fact that Mr. Alison has incor- 
porated her principal statements into the body of the 
work. 



Alison's history of europe. 203 

But when he approaches the war of 1812, the sub- 
ject assumes a more serious aspect. Routed armies 
and conquered frigates cannot be swept away by an 
extravagant assertion ; and he exhibits by his contor- 
tions, sudden admissions, and as sudden denials, his 
inward ' repugnance to so unpoetic a theme. We 
were prepared for the grossest misrepresentations 
here, but not, we confess, for the operations of a re- 
versed fancy. His imagination is able to sleep a 
moment, while by brief and dry statistics he converts 
a brilliant action of ours into a common-place affair ; 
but, reaching a certain point, it, like gravitation, 

" turns the other way," 



creating, grouping, and coloring with its wonted 
vigor. He starts by boldly asserting, what no intel- 
ligent man in Europe believes, namely, that " Ame- 
rica, the greatest republic in existence, had the dis- 
grace of going to war with Great Britain, then the 
last refuge of liberty in the civilized world, when 
their only ground of complaint against it had been 
removed." There must have been some strange in- 
fatuation on the part of our people, with a fleet of a 
few ships, and an army of a few thousand men, to 
provoke hostilities with the strongest nation -on the 
globe. But Mr. Alison has discovered a profound 
and philosophic reason for this madness, which we 
will allow him to give in his own words : " on war 
she was determined, and to war she went." After 
running over our naval and military force, making 
our whole army about as large as one of Napoleon's 



204 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

divisions, and giving to our militia onty one good 
quality, that of being fast runners, he expresses the 
most unfeigned astonishment at our temerity at mea- 
turing swords with Great Britain, but finally con- 
soles himself with the reflection, that it only " proves 
she insouciance of democracy." He is not hard to 
please, and democracy is the " open sesame " to all 
his difficulties. But, perhaps, the most remarkable 
allegation in the whole work — remarkable, not so 
much for its falseness, as the utter incredulity with 
which it must be received by the civilized world — is 
the declaration that the " system of government in the 
United States has been proved to be wholly unequal 
to the external security of the nation." His assertion 
that we are so weak that we should be " conquered in 
three months if located among the powers of Europe," 
was natural ; and if he had stated that in any future 
war we should be frightened into submission at the 
first cannon shot, it would have been in perfect har- 
mony with the rest of his facts : but to say that it 
has been proved that we are "unequal" to protect 
ourselves, affects us with profounder astonishment 
even, than our temerity in declaring war seems to 
have filled him. We are not surprised at the state- 
ment because it is untrue, but that he should put his 
reputation as a historian at such hazard among Eu- 
ropeans as to declare that the history of sixty years, 
and the glorious termination of two bloody wars, so 
openly and palpably contradict. What the future 
may be, we leave to Mr. Alison's fruitful imagination 
to point out ; but "the past is secure." If the long 



ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 205 

and wasting war of the Revolution, and its termina- 
tion, with the brave struggle by sea and land of the 
war of 1812, do not prove that we have been able 
to " protect" ourselves, will the historian say what 
can prove it? If the flag of the States left floating 
over a conquered .enemy after almost every sea fight, 
the steadiest armies of Europe routed and hurled 
from our shores, are not satisfactory arguments, we 
confess ourselves unable to furnish them. There are 
Bunker Hill and Yorktown, Champlain and Erie, 
and Plattsburgh and New Orleans ; and yonder goes 
the Macedonian, firing her salutes in honor of the 
Republic ; If these do not flash back the ridiculous 
falsehood in Mr. Alison's face, they are unmeaning 
things. But these rash statements spring from the 
same cause which prompts him to depreciate our pre- 
sent military strength, classing our navy and army 
under the denomination of "Lilliputian forces" — 
from a slight soreness in view of the result of our 
struggle "with the parent country. He tells us our 
men are fit only for a bush fight, and cannot stand 
fire in the open field. Whether this be true or false, 
it is paying the British soldiers a poor compliment. 
It reminds us of an anecdote of an American sailor, 
who happened to be in the pit of a London theatre 
when King William was present. During the play, 
a company of men dressed as tailors, cobblers, black- 
smiths, farmers, without uniform, and swinging around 
their heads pitchforks, hammers, fowling-pieces, and 
muskets were introduced on the stage to represent 
the American army. Jack looked awhile on the tat- 

18 



206 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

terdemalion company until the boisterous laugh had 
died away, then shouted out " Hurra ! Old England 
beat by blacksmiths and cobblers." The laugh raised 
at our undisciplined forces has a double meaning. We 
can afford to laugh. It reminds us of his stricture 
on our manners. "The Americans," says he, "are 
vain on all national subjects, and excessively sensitive 
to censure, however slight, and most of all to ridi- 
cule. The English not only no way resent, but posi- 
tively enjoy, the ludicrous exhibitions made of their 
manners on the French stage : such burlesques would 
flay the Americans alive. The English recollect that 
the French learned these peculiarities when the Bri- 
tish troops occupied Paris." However true this ma*y 
be, as a general remark, ridicule of our " Lilliputian 
forces" we are able to bear with becoming compo- 
sure, for we also "recollect" where the "English" 
learned these peculiarities " of our army." The 
first view they obtained of it, in the revolutionary 
war, was at Bunker Sill, and the last at Y^orktown, 
and the last review that Briton ever made of our 
troops was at New Orleans. The English have had 
a good opportunity to witness the discipline of our 
forces and the character of our uniform. They have 
been near enough to see their faces, and the manner 
they wheel, and especially how they fire. The laugh 
raised at these specimens sounds to us altogether like 
mockery. 

When Mr. Alison comes to our naval battles, his 
descriptive powers suddenly fail him. The fancy 
that could bring before us every action between an 



ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 207 

English and French vessel, describes the beautiful 
manoeuvring of the ships, the fluttering of the can- 
vas, the blazing broadsides, the uproar of battle, the 
carnage and the victory, becomes suddenly wingless. 
Those fierce, single-handed fights of ship with ship, 
and frigate with frigate, are dismissed almost as rap- 
idly as their broadsides were. One would think he 
was writing despatches on the field of battle. The 
only occasion that calls forth his descriptive powers, 
is the capture of the Chesapeake by the Shannon ; an 
action that lasted about fifteen minutes, and was 
fought by a half drunken and undisciplined crew. 
He devotes more space to this single battle — which 
Captain Lawrence never should have fought, and 
whose reputation has escaped injury only by his glo- 
rious death — than he does to the actions between the 
Guerriere and Constitution, Frolic and "Wasp, Mace- 
donian and United States, Java and Constitution, 
Peacock and Hornet, altogether. These five naval 
engagements, in which the American vessels were 
victorious, each deserved as lengthened a notice as 
the action between the Chesapeake and Shannon ; 
and yet they are all crammed together, as if belong- 
ing to one despatch, and dismissed with the everlast- 
ing " in this as in the previous instances where the 
Americans had proved successful, the superiority on 
their side was very decided." If the American ves- 
sel, as in the case of the Peacock and Hornet, had 
but one more gun than the English, and fifty-two 
more men, Mr. Alison calls it a "decided superiority." 
The difference of two or three guns and fifty or a 



208 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

hundred men, in a battle between two of the r first- 
class frigates, we never supposed to constitute such a 
decided superiority as to account for almost universal 
defeat. 

But it is not true that the Americans always had 
the superiority, either in numbers or weight of metal. 
It would be tedious to go into the details of each en- 
gagement ; but one will stand for the rest. In Mr. 
Alison's very minute account of the capture of the 
President, he says, " an action more prosperous, but 
not more glorious for the British arms, than that 
between the Reindeer and Wasp, took place next 
spring, which terminated in the capture of the noble 
American frigate President, one of the largest vessels 
of that class in the world, by the Endymion, Captain 
Hope, slightly aided by the Pomona." And in the 
conclusion, he adds, "the Endymion having fallen 
astern, the Pomona came up and gave the President 
two broadsides, with little or no eifect, owing to the 
darkness of the night, but this circumstance saved the 
American's honor, as two vessels had now opened 
their fire upon her, and he accordingly hauled down 
his colors." This account, though entirely erro- 
neous, is not more so than many of the others. We 
have selected it merely because we wish to let Eng- 
lish officers themselves bear testimony against Mr. 
Alison. The President was compelled to fight the 
Endymion at disadvantage, because she had to run 
for it, or find herself enveloped in the fire of four 
ships. We are indebted to a friend for a document, 
which, we believe, has never before been published 



ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 209 

in this country. It is an account of this engagement, 
by the officers of the two vessels, Pomona and Tene- 
dos, to which the President surrendered, written 
immediately after they arrived with their prize at 
Bermuda. Accompanying it is a deposition of Com- 
modore Decatur, taken at St. George's at the same 
time. 



" His Majesty's Frigate Pomona, 
Bermuda, 29th January, 



Pomona, ) 
f, 1815. 5 



" About an hour before daylight of the 15th instant, two 
strange sail (a ship and brig) were discovered on our lee bow, 
standing to the eastward, under a press of sail, wind N. W. 
by N. Majestic and Endymion in company — all sail was 
made in chase, by the three ships, and it was soon evident we 
gained on them. As day dawned, another ship was seen, 
hull down, to leeward, and the commodore, imagining her 
also to be an enemy, detached the Pomona in chase; we im- 
mediately bore right up before the wind, and in three quarters 
of an hour, ascertaining her to be the Tenedos, again hauled 
up to the east, being by this circumstance thrown seven or 
eight miles more astern of the original chase. However, we 
soon again began to approach the enemy, as did also the 
Endymion ; which, from the above event, was now far ahead 
of the Pomona. At one P. M. we passed the Majestic ; Pre- 
sident and Endymion, at two, occasionally exchanging stern 
and bow guns ; the wind began to fall light, and the Pomona 
was yet too far off to render any assistance, but still coming 
up. At 5,30, the President bore up, closing with the Endy- 
mion, and fired her starboard broadside, which was promptly 
returned by the Endymion's larboard. A running fight then 
continued for some time, which gradually slackened ; and at 
half-past eight ceased, the Endymion falling astern — Pomona 
passing her at half-past eight. At this time she was observed 
to fire two guns, which the President returned with one. 
At eleven, being within gun-shot of the President, who was 

18* 



210 ALISON'S HISTORY OP EUROPE. 

still steering to the eastward, under a press of sail, with royal 
top-gallant topmast and lower studding-sails set, and finding 
how much we outsailed her, our studding-sails were taken in, 
and immediately afterwards we luffed to port and fired our 
starboard broadside. The enemy then also luffed to port, 
bringing his larboard broadside to bear, which was momenta- 
rily expected, as, a few minutes previous to our closing her, 
she hoisted a light abaft, which in night actions substituted 
the ensign. Our second broadside was fired ; and the Presi- 
dent still luffing up, as if intent to lay us on board, we hauled 
close to port, bracing the yards up and setting the mainsail. 
The broadside was again ready to be fired into his bows raking, 
when she hauled down the light, and we haled demanding if 
she had surrendered. The reply was in the affirmative, and the 
firing instantly ceased. The Tenedos, which was not more 
than three miles off, soon afterwards* came up, and assisted in 
securing the prize and removing the prisoners. At three-quarters 
past twelve, the Endymion came up, and the Majestic at three 
in the morning." 

Commodore Decatur's Deposition, taken at St. George's, 
Bermuda. 
" The President was taken on the 15th of January, being 
under American colors. Resistance was not made against 
the Endymion for two and a half hours — she having dropped 
out of the fight. The next ships coming up two and a half 
hours' after the action with the Endymion, were the Pomona 
and Tenedos; to these two ships the President surrendered; 
the Pomona had commenced her firing within musket shot." 

The testimony Mr. Alison's countrymen utter 
against him here, is, first, that the President was not 
taken by the Endymion at all ; second, that instead 

* This alludes fo the time the Pomona commenced firing; 
the President was boarded precisely at the same time, by the 
boats of the Tenedos and Pomona. 



Alison's history op Europe. 211 

of the American having " saved her honor," by the 
"fortunate arrival of two other vessels, she had so 
thoroughly beaten the Endymion, that the latter was 
forced to retire from the fight " two and a half hours" 
before the Pomona arrived, and did not come up with 
the prize till two hours and three-quarters after she 
struck. This is called being " slightly aided" by the 
Pomona. The officers of the two ships that boarded 
the President, after she struck, state that the Endy- 
mion and President commenced exchanging shots at 
half-past two in the afternoon, and came to close en- 
gagement at half-past five. At half-past eight, the 
action, having continued with more or less severity 
three hours, the Endymion fell astern fairly beaten 
off, while the President was walking away under a 
press of canvas to escape the rest of the fleet that 
was now rapidly coming up. At this time the Pomona 
passed the Endymion, so crippled as to be unable 
longer to sustain the action. At eleven, she over- 
hauled the President, also crippled from her long en- 
gagement, and opened her broadsides. The Tenedos 
now rapidly approaching, the contest became hope- 
less, and the noble frigate was compelled to surrender. 
At a quarter before one, or at least four hours after 
the Endymion dropped out of the action, she came 
up. It took two hours and three-quarters steady 
sailing to reach the President, after she had struck her 
colors. 

This is a new mode of capturing a vessel. Those 
guns must be like Mr. Alison's imagination, to reach 
a ship at such a distance that it required two hours' 



212 ALISON'S HISTORY OP EUROPE. 

sailing to overtake her after she had surrendered. 
The truth is, as evinced by the statement of the Eng- 
lish officers and the deposition of Commodore Decatur, 
the President beat the Endymion, and then was beaten 
by the rest of the fleet ; and she could not have con- 
sidered her honor in particular danger from a crippled 
vessel, left by her four hours before, mending her rig- 
ging. If Captain Hope considers the heavy broad- 
sides of a fresh vessel, firing within musket shot, and 
the rapid approach of another ship to the combat, 
while he was out of sight, " slight assistance," his 
gratitude will never be severely taxed in this world. 

But the repeated victories gained by us, could not 
be swept away by assertion, and the world would not 
reason as Mr. Alison contends it ought to have done, 
so that their "moral effect," he is compelled to 
admit, "was astounding." Well it might be. We 
know of nothing in the annals of civilized warfare that 
will compare with the boldness and success of our 
little fleet during the war. The battles of the Nile 
and Trafalgar, which had covered the English navy 
with glory — the undisputed triumph with .which the 
British flag was borne over every sea, had been for 
years ringing over our land. Flushed with victory, 
and confident of success, that fleet now bore down on 
our coast. With only a handful of ships to offer 
against his superior force, our commanders, never- 
theless, stood boldly out to sea, and flung their flags 
of defiance to the breeze. The civilized world looked 
with amazement on the rashness that could provoke 
so unequal a strife ; but while it waited to hear that 



ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 213 

our little navy was blown to atoms, the news came of 
the loss of the Gruerriere. Report after report of 
victories gained by us followed with stunning rapidity. 
" The English were defeated on their own element," 
and her hitherto undisputed claim to the mastery of 
the seas broken for ever. The courage that could 
bear up against such fearful odds, and pluck the 
wreaths of victory from the English navy, has covered 
the commanders of that time with abiding honors. 
Our rights were restored — our commerce protected — 
and the haughty bearing of England towards us, 
caused by the memory that we were rebels, was chas- 
tised from her. The British flag had been lowered 
so frequently to the "stars and stripes," that respect 
and fear had usurped the place of contempt and pride. 
The war on land was prosecuted with equal success. 
Yet this war, so triumphantly carried through, Mr. 
Alison makes equivalent to a defeat. We never gained, 
if his account of the matter is to be taken, except 
where all the advantage was on our side ; while in all 
our losses, we were on the average equal to our oppo- 
nents. Our hazarding a war, in the first place, was the 
unparalleled rashness of a reckless democracy — our 
partial success, mere good luck, not to be anticipated 
again ; the result, on the whole, " advantageous to 
England, while the United States emerged worsted 
from the fight," and the final treaty highly honorable 
to Great Britain. His conclusions are, that "the 
triumphs of Plattsburgh and New Orleans, with which 
the war terminated, have so elated the inhabitants of 
the United States, and blinded them to the real weak- 



214 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

ness of their situation, that little doubt remains that, 
out of this premature and incomplete pacification, the 
germs of a future and calamitous war between the 
two countries will spring," — that the Americans are 
aggressive, like all republican governments, and that 
they are not to become a great naval power. To at- 
tempt gravely to refute these declarations, is to ac- 
knowledge their force. 

The statement at the outset, that we sought an un- 
provoked war with England, is not more erroneous 
than his account of the manner it was carried on. 
Instead of all grounds of dissatisfaction being removed 
previous to hostilities, grievances had accumulated, 
the half of which would now precipitate a war between 
us and any other country on the globe. And instead 
of our vessels being greatly the superior in those naval 
engagements where we came off victorious, there is 
not one sea-fight in fifty, where the combatants were 
more equally matched. If a battle is never to be 
considered equal until both ships have the same ton- 
nage to a pound, the same number of cannon, and 
the muster-roll of the crews equal to a man, we are 
inclined to suspect there never will be one fought. 
There was not a naval action during the whole war 
where the real, effective, practical force was so dis- 
proportionate as in the battle between the Chesapeake 
and Shannon ; yet this last, Mr. Alison makes one of 
the most brilliant engagements that occurred. So 
the battle of the Thames, Plattsburgh, and New 
Orleans, were the necessary results of overpowering 
advantages, either in position or number, while the 



Alison's history of europe. 215 

battle of Bladensburgh, and the bloodless capture of 
Washington, was, to use his own words, " one of the 
most brilliant expeditions ever carried into execution 
by any nation." An army of some four thousand 
regular troops, with two three-pounders, put to flight 
five or six thousand raw militia, and, with the loss of 
five dozen men, marched into a small unfortified town, 
occupied as the Capitol of the United States, and set 
fire, like a band of robbers, to the Capitol, Arsenal, 
Dockyard, Treasury, War Office, President's House, 
a rope-walk, and a bridge. Such an aifair the histo- 
rian of Lodi, and Marengo, and Waterloo — of the ter- 
rible conflicts of the Peninsula, and the sublime sea- 
fights of Aboukir and Trafalgar — calls " one of the 
most brilliant expeditions ever carried into execution 
by any nation." 

The truth of the whole matter is, that the war, 
abating the usual vicissitudes, was carried on success- 
fully to its termination, and a peace concluded securing 
to us our rights and protecting our commerce. The 
plain conclusions that a man of common sense would 
draw from it all, are, that we were disinclined to a 
war, except in self defence, and then were equal to 
our own protection. But Mr. Alison is always diving 
after truth, and a foolish reason is better than an old 
one. He is, also, perpetually discovering awful crises 
where the fate of the world depends on a single move. 
Thus he hinges Europe a score of times on the move- 
ment of a single column. If this had happened here 
or there, the fate of the continent and of the world 
would have been changed. Very probable ; so if Bona- 



216 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

parte had been shot in some of his countless battles, 
or broken his neck by a fall from his horse at some 
grand review, or fallen overboard on his voyage from 
Elba, when the vessel was going ten knots an hour, 
or caught cold in some of his night marches, the his- 
tory of the world would have been changed. A dif- 
ferent result to any battle might have done it, and 
yet many often turned on the charge of a single 
body of cavalry. But history is nothing to Mr. Alison 
unless it is tragedy, and we believe the reputation of 
his work rests far more upon its dramatic character 
than upon its facts. To us, history is important only 
for the philosophy it teaches, and in this respect Mr. 
Alison has done the world more hurt than good. He 
is incapable of philosophizing correctly, because he 
sets out with the conviction that his feelings are right 
in all cases. Utterly unable to escape from his 
prejudices and occupy a high standing-point, from 
whence he can survey the world with the clear eye 
of an impartial historian, he goes plunging on, en- 
deavoring to make every thing bend to his philoso- 
phy of monarchy. In all the good wrought out by 
man, he thinks he discovers the workings of royalty; 
and in all the evil done under the sun, the cloven foot 
of democracy. Is there an unjust war commenced, 
it is done by republicans ; is there any climax to op- 
pression, it is that of the majority ; and is there any 
atrocity rivaling the horrors of the Inquisition, it is 
committed by democracy. All that is firm and useful 
in the world owes its place to monarchy — all that is 
unsettled and dangerous, to republicanism. Religion 



ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 217 

itself can flourish nowhere but under a monarchy, and 
literature descends to the capacities of a mob in a 
republic. All nations are wrong but England, and 
true liberty is a stranger to any other land. " No 
community," says he, "need be afraid of going far 
astray which treads in the footsteps of Rome and 
England." Lord Brougham may ask, "What mean 
those portentous shapes that stalk through England ?" 
and Macaulay and Earl Grey bid the throne and 
nation stop and feel the first throb of the coming 
earthquake. Sir Robert Peel may* say that the 
"necessaries of life can be no farther taxed," and, 
in a time of peace, resort to the extraordinary mea- 
sures of war to keep the nation above water ; the 
most pitiful sight of strong-bodied men wandering 
over the land, begging for work that they may not 
starve, may meet one at every turn ; " torch and 
dagger meetings" may occur almost every night in 
the week, and the muttered curse of millions of suf- 
fering men and women swell like distant thunder 
around the throne — it all matters nothing to Mr. 
Alison. The conclusion is, "follow England." 
Heaven keep us from that path, and its issue. We 
have looked down that gulf, and have no desire to 
try its depths. When we feel the first step of the 
approaching earthquake, let us know it is not human 
suffering and human despair on the march, and we 
can abide the rest. 

Follow England and monarchy, and shun the 
French Revolution and American Democracy, are 
the two great lessons Mr. Alison attempts to impress 

19 



218 alison's history of europe. 

on the mind from the four volumes of his history* 
He had*better belied every military leader and falsi- 
fied every battle, than done this. He ought to have 
known the omnipotence of the rising strength of 
the masses, and instead of urging the glory of a 
monarchy and aristocracy, to have pleaded the ne- 
cessity of yielding betimes," and guiding the spirit 
which is now awake and will not be laid, and which 
otherwise will rend its oppressors, though it then turn 
and rend itself. If there is one thing clear and fear- 
ful to the thoughtful man, it is that the American Re- 
bellion, the French Revolution, and English Chartism, 
are but the commencement of a struggle destined to 
be universal. The theories of Rousseau and Voltaire 
never raised it in 1779, nor can the theories of Mr. 
Alison lay it now. The masses that create and carry 
it on argue from experience, and the only effect of 
such a history is to delay, and hence increase the in- 
tensity and violence of the conflict. 

The conclusion of this history is worse than the 
commencement, and worthy of severe censure. Inde- 
pendent of the radical error taught by its philosophy, 
it is laid down as an inevitable result, that war must 
take place between us and England. Having estab- 
lished this fact, Mr. Alison marks out the plan of the 
next campaign in all its details, and speaks of the ne- 
cessity of suddenly precipitating vast armies upon 
our coasts, at the outset, with the coolness of a man 
whose trade is war. Not satisfied with the incitements 
to bad feeling furnished by his history alone, he in- 
flames the passions still more by his outlines of the 



Alison's history of Europe. 219 

coming war, and renders the catastrophe familiar and 
-probable by declaring it to be inevitable. No such 
necessity as he pretends exists : and if so great a 
calamity to both nations should befall them, it will be 
brought about by such men and writers as Mr. Alison. 
One would think he had fallen in love with battles, 
from the fine materials for description they furnish 
him. Indeed, it harmonizes perfectly with another 
branch of his theory, drawn from the long and bloody 
wars of the continent, which is, that "war is ne- 
cessary for the moral purification of mankind. " He 
acknowledges that it is the cause of unparalleled suf- 
fering, " but," he asks, "is not suffering necessary 
to the purification of the human heart? Have we 
not been told, by the highest authority, that man is 
made perfect through suffering ? Is not misfortune, 
anxiety, and distress, the severe but salutary school 
of individual improvement ? And what is war but 
anxiety, distress, and often agony, to nations ?" The 
philanthropist will be angry at such absurdity, and 
the philosopher laugh at the stupid sophistry. We 
venture to say the apostle never dreamed that human 
ingenuity could ever so distort his divine precept, as 
to make it prove the purifying effect of war. 

Mr. Alison certainly has the credit of being the 
first discoverer of this entirely original application of 
the text. Murder and massacre, the torch of civil 
war blazing over human dwellings, mothers and child- 
ren trampled down as the car of war rolls in carnage 
over the land ; churches pillaged, congregations scat- 
tered, education neglected, cities sacked, women ra- 



220 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

vished, and all the brutal passions of man, inflamed 
to the utmost, let loose on society, are necessary in 
order to purify it. They are to a nation what a sick 
bed is to a man; making it thoughtful, calm, and 
prayerful. Afflictions loosen us from the world by 
teaching us that nothing is stable here. War has the 
same effect on nations, lifting their thoughts to God. 
To close up a history of twenty-six years of most 
bloody and wasting wars, during which religion was 
forgotten and education neglected, and life wasted 
like water, with the grave assertion that war is " ne- 
cessary to the moral purification of mankind," and 
base the assertion on the divine precept that " man is 
made perfect by suffering," is the absurdest thing 
that ever found its way into the pages of history. 
Europe must have been very near the millenium at 
the summing up of her long purification at the battle 
of Waterloo, and Spain will soon be " perfect by suf- 
fering." The Roman empire ought to have ^rown 
very pure as it grew older, and the incessant conflicts 
of South America and Mexico must end in a high 
state of moral culture. The excitement to military 
glory, the recklessness of life and principle, a war 
creates, the influence of an army quartered in a city 
or country, the purity of the camp, and the husbands 
and sons the scythe of battle mows down, are all so 
many causes of purification. So says Mr. Alison; 
while the history of the world, the experience of man- 
kind, the spirit of the gospel, and the indignant re- 
sponse of the human heart brand it as false and 
calumnious. That there is no evil without some cor- 



Alison's history op Europe. 221 

responding good, or, in other words, that we may 
learn some lessons from every event, all men admit, 
— hut that war is a purifier of society, just as afflic- 
tion purifies the Christian, is the most preposterous 
idea a Christian man ever entertained. Deeds of 
heroism are performed, and patriotism and affection 
and the martyr spirit often exhibited in war, as they 
never are in peace ; hut we thought it had been 
adopted as a maxim, long"* ago, that the physical 
evils of war, terrible as they are, were small com- 
pared to its moral evils. 

But Mr. Alison has one peculiarity, which, other 
things being equal, would place him high above or- 
dinary historians — he recognizes a God in history. 
The hand of Providence is seen in the course of hu- 
man events, and the principle that the Almighty 
visits the sins of nations upon themselves, fully re- 
cognized. It is a standing objection to the best his- 
tories of our race, that secondary causes have been 
put for ultimate ones. Even the Pagan writers allow 
their gods to have some design in the changes that 
visit nations, while those of a more enlightened age 
see nothing in the mutations around them but the 
work of human passions. This belief* in an over- 
ruling Deity, however, is almost neutralized by the 
very aristocratic sort of a being he puts in heaven to 
preside over human affairs. He is a high Tory, like 
Mr. Alison, and has not the remotest sympathy with 
republicanism or republicans. Indeed, we find it 
expressly stated, that religion and democracy are 
antagonisms, and that the one cannot exist without 

19* 



222 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 

the destruction of the other. The infidelity, the 
cruelty, the meanness, and utter ruin connected by 
necessity with a republican form of government, are 
taught on almost every form of this history. He has 
coupled the French Revolution and Democracy to- 
gether in his- mind, and neither facts nor argument 
can sunder them. The word "revolution," seems to 
have the same effect on his mind, that it might be 
supposed to have on one who had just passed through 
the Reign of Terror. But the Reformation of Luther 
was a revolution unshackling the world, and pouring 
daylight on its darkness. The Cromwellian Rebel- 
lion was a revolution doing more for English liberty 
than all antecedent ages had done for it. The 
American Rebellion was a revolution, breaking the 
spell of tyranny, and sending hope and light to the 
farthest limits of the earth. The French Revolution 
did also its share of good, in holding up before 
despots a mirror in which they might read their own 
fate, and teaching the world that oppression has a 
limit, and buried freedom its resurrection day ; and 
that just as deep as human rights and hopes are sunk, 
just so high will the tide of vengeance swell at last. 

" Truth crushed to earth will rise again ; 
The eternal years of God are hers." 

The fate of our own republic, which Mr. Alison 
reads so prophetically, is by no means yet decided ; 
and even should we fall, we do not consider the ques- 
tion of the durability of a republican government 
settled. Had our population been suffered to increase 



Alison's history of Europe. 223 

by the natural laws which govern it, and all those who 
control our interests been educated in the principles 
of true freedom, and been bound together by the com- 
mon ties of kindred and country, and the whole glo- 
rious fabric of our constitution steadily strengthened 
as bulwark after bulwark was reared around it by the 
jealous watchfulness of an intelligent people ; had we 
been left to try out the experiment, by ourselves, on 
our own soil, then we should consider the question of 
the expediency of a republican form of government 
fixed for ever. 

But now we are compelled not cfnly to struggle with 
the evils that gather around every new undertaking, 
but to blend and incorporate into the very heart of 
our system the ignorance and degradation and crime 
of the despotisms of Europe. From such materials 
as tyranny sends us we are asked to rear our struc- 
ture ; and if it ever sways and totters, from tfie hetero- 
geneous mass we are compelled to pile so hastily into 
it, we are tauntingly asked— How goes the doctrine 
of equality ? The tens of thousands of hungry, half 
naked, and miserable beings, that are precipitated 
yearly upon our bosom, and enter almost immediately 
upon the work of reforming our system, come from a 
government where all their sorrows have sprung from 
the oppression of the upper classes. Knowing the 
"wormwood and the gall," and retaining the old 
hatred against the rich that has strengthened with 
their sufferings, they are easily led, like the mobs of 
Paris, by unscrupulous leaders, to act against their 
own permanent interests. So, also, the convicts and 



224 ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. 



famine-struck wretches that the prisons and alms- 
houses of Europe disgorge yearly on our shores, swell 
the records of crime and pauperism in our land, while 
the acts they commit, and the sufferings they engen- 
der, are charged over to republicanism. Laissez faire 
is a just request ; and could the world but have granted 
it to us we should have been content. 



THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 225 



CHAPTER V. 
THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 

To a spectator at a distance, this world of ours 
would present a mere chaos of active life. In the 
countless modes in which human energy expends 
itself : the multiplied forms of government ; in the 
erection of cities, the extension of commerce, the 
shock of armies ; and in all the tumult that keeps 
this planet in a tremor, he would see but the sum 
total of individual action — the mere aggregation of 
the efforts of each soul working out its own schemes, 
seeking its Own good. It would seem a sea of sepa- 
rate billows driven by no common wind, but moving 
to distinct and separate forces. 

But to one who studies the 'philosophy of history, 
an under-current exhibits itself, moving steadily and 
strongly, though not uniformly on, bearing all this 
disconnected life, this irregular, but tremendous en- 
ergy, to a certain goal. 

The doctrine of human progress has been much 
discussed of late, and I find it believed or disbelieved 
according to the tastes and occupations of men, 
rather than from the arguments they themselves use. 
To the outward, active man, steamboats, railroads, 
and magnetic telegraphs, by connecting cities and 



226 THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 

continents, and furnishing highways for commerce 
and thought, appear objects of incalculable worth — 
compared to which, the philosophy of the ancients, 
the poetry and art of the Greeks and Romans, are 
but the useless reveries, or dreamy sentimentality, 
of great but inefficient men. He looks on the sur- 
face of things ; and, seeing this world active with life 
— cities springing, as by the touch of an enchanter's 
hand, into existence — manufactories dashing every 
river into foam — steam-power hurling men thirty 
miles an hour, from one end of a continent to the 
other — and the very lightnings of heaven harnessed 
down and made to work like a common dray-horse ; 
he regards the world as just waking up, and looks 
with surprise on the immobility and apathy of past 
ages. He believes in human progress — he tells you 
that this world has taken incredible leaps forward. 
He meets all arguments opposed to his statements, 
with expressions of astonishment. It does not need 
reason, it needs only eyes to convince one. On the 
other hand, the man of books and reflection beholds 
things through quite another medium. To him, the 
inward life is the great life of man. He has read 
the history of man with his eye on his soul instead 
of his hands ; and, perchance, has become so deeply 
imbued with the spirit of the past — drunk so deeply 
from the wells of ancient philosophy and literature, 
that he regards the fierce action of men around him 
as indicative of any thing but progress. To him, 
"internal improvements" is a misnomer, and this 
out-thrusting of the whole man as ominous of evil 



THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 227 

rather than good. The poet is very much of the 
same opinion ; for though he may appreciate the 
action around him, he doubts its issue. He may 
admire the new developments of energy on every 
side ; but to see money-lenders ruling the world in- 
stead of sages and poets ; the broker's exchange 
taking the place of the academic grove ; and halls of 
statuary and painting removed to furnish room for 
cotton bales and hogsheads of tobacco ; and, alas ! the 
strong effort to develop and embody the beautiful 
and true, both in nature and art, disappear before 
the mad excitement after gain ; augurs sadly for the 
race. True, this world is wide awake; but the, 
louder the clamor rings, the more indistinct and low 
sound the voice of wisdom, and the calm accents of 
meditation and secluded thought. The development 
of energy at the cost of these, though it transforms 
the surface of the earth, will leave the spiritual man 
worse than before. So reasons he as he looks abroad 
on life ; and, as he casts his eye down through com- 
ing centuries, he fears their final report will tell 
poorly for the experiment so confidently carried out. 
The "man of the age" rubs his hands with delight 
when he sees how easily he can connect two manu- 
facturing towns, by running a railroad, perchance, 
through the scenery of Windemere Cottage ; while 
Wordsworth vents his complaints and unbelief in a 
sonnet, that would look odd amid the engineer's re- 
port of a railroad company. Some will take up his- 
tory in detail, and prove that man has made little, 
if any, improvement since the classic days of Greece 



228 THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 

and Rome. Others acknowledge the progress, but 
have no faith in the final result. Doubting the virtue 
of man, and reasoning from the past, thej expect to 
see him commit suicide at last. To them, this earth 
s^ems like a vessel on a lee-shore, wrapped in the 
midnight storm, sending constantly heavenward her 
cry for help ; and the overthrow of every government 
— the failure of every experiment designed for the 
relief of man, a signal gun of distress, fired through 
the gloom ; and believe that the way of deliverance 
is not yet found. And I must confess, to look back 
on some portions of human history, man seems to 
have been moving round like an old mill-horse in the 
same circle, ever grinding out the same paramount 
falsehood, that governments were made for the few, 
and the blessings and comforts of life for the few also. 
Whether the world is gradually advancing to ma- 
turity like a thriving tree, or steadily improving like 
the character of a good man striving after perfection, 
I shall not now discuss. But the mere fact that, 
with six thousand years as a scale, and whole centu- 
ries as degrees, it is still a moot-question, shows its 
utter worthlessness in all calculations for the future. 
If, with such a long interval, in which to note the 
advancing steps of the race, it is still doubtful which 
way it is tending, I leave it for others to determine 
the time necessary to bring man up to a state of 
political, social, or religious millennium. Still, we are 
not to suppose the centuries have come and gone hap- 
hazard. It would be impious to declare, as we stand 
at the close of six thousand years, and look back, that 



THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 229 

they have had no mission nor meaning — that they 
have risen to the surface like Bubbles, and burst, 
leaving nothing to the generations that toiled so pain- 
fully through them. All that has passed may be but 
the preparation, so that the work in the world shall 
be a short one. All this tremendous expenditure of 
time, and energy, and life, may be but the lifting of 
the engine whose downward blow shall shake the 
earth. 

At least there has been a steady progress in one 
principle, which is changing and shall change the 
face of the world. Whatever the final issue may be — 
whether it shall save or wreck the hopes of man — 
it is to introduce a new era, and give us human life 
under a new form ; "I mean the democratic principle. 
I would I could relieve the mind from all those defi- 
nitions which political demagogues have given this 
term, and that it might be allowed its legitimate, true 
meaning — the right of man to govern himself — the 
right to think, speak, and act for himself, all growing 
out of his personal worth. Perhaps it would be bet- 
ter to call it the republican principle — or the doctrine 
of equal rights. I refer now to the world at large, 
and more especially to civilized Europe. In watch- 
ing the rise and progress of this principle, tracing it 
through its bloody conflicts, its defeats and victories, 
witnessing its sufferings and transports, and beholding 
how the thought and strength of the world have been 
concentrated upon it, I have felt that he who would 
write out the future history of man must study it 
deeply. I make no apology for bringing this subject 

20 



230 THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 

before you, although it may not seem in every respect 
appropriate to this occasion. So long as it is the 
burden of the true poet in every land, and the inspi- 
ration of the artist in his brightest creations, and has 
been and is the end and aim of the scholar in every 
age, it belongs not to the politician, but to you. 

As I behold it steadily making its way over the 
earth, to-day assuming the character of a religious, 
to-morrow of a political, revolution, still gaining in 
every change, it becomes to me the most momentous 
of all questions whatsoever. The fate of the world 
turns on it, and of all men the scholar is most deeply 
interested in it. In him is supposed to be lodged the 
true conservative spirit. Having studied the past 
while living in the present — a thoughtful, yet prac- 
tical man — with knowledge, and the power to make 
that knowledge felt, he under heaven, is the only pilot 
for the troublous times on which the governments of 
the world are entering. When the strong checks of 
arbitrary power are removed, and the reins are 
thrown on the necks of men, and they are left to 
dash away in the joy of their recovered freedom, and 
at the bidding of their own strong impulses, there 
will be a chapter written in human history that man 
shall tremble to read. 

What the design of God was, in shutting up in the 
Jewish nation all those principles and truths adapted 
to reform and civilize the world, it is impossible to 
tell. The greatest pains seem to have been taken 
to keep the nations of the earth in ignorance ; and 
they were left, while century after century passed by, 



THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 231 

to toil round in the same circle, confused rather than 
aided by the dim light of nature. It may have been, 
to let the world try the experiment of taking care of 
itself, to present similar follies in future, and hence 
give revelation, when it should be made universal, a 
value it would not otherwise have possessed. At all 
events, man was kept in a state of servitude and igno- 
rance. Even the proud Roman had no idea of per- 
sonal worth. "I am a Roman citizen," he exclaimed, 
and in that lay his dignity. Holding the proud rank 
of Roman citizen, he could confront kings without 
being abashed; but in Rome he was a slave. Under 
the shadow of the Palatine Hill, he walked silent and 
fearful. There, he never uttered, " I am a man." 
He was a Roman, deriving his greatness from the 
city in which he dwelt ; still, he was not a man, borne 
up with the consciousness of his individual greatness 
— his personal value. Christ was the first whoever 
uttered this truth. The masses had always been ad- 
dressed as mere instruments made for the handiwork 
of kings and chieftains; but Christ, as he stooped 
over the hitherto despised multitude, and whispered 
in their astonished ears, "Ye are men," startled 
into life a spirit that no conjuring has since been able 
to lay. It was a revolutionary sentiment, more dan- 
gerous to the Roman power, and to all the Caesars of 
the world, than to proclaim himself King of the Jews. 
To tell men — despised, ignorant fishermen — that they 
were children of a common parent — younger brothers 
©f the Son of God, who was no respecter of persons — 
was waking up a whole world of thought in the human 



232 THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 

heart, and pouring through it emotions more terrible 
than the throb of the earthquake. From that moment 
life took a different level. For ages, the waters had 
moved sluggishly on ; at the appearance of Christ, 
they dashed over their barriers, and, seeking a new 
level, flowed onward, making a channel for themselves. 
The first step of the emancipated mind was to break 
away from the very religious ceremonies it had been 
taught to venerate, and which had the sanction of 
Moses, and Samuel, and David, and all the prophets 
— to turn the back on Jewish synagogues and tem- 
ples and ritual — and, pushing aside the High Priest 
at the altar, scattering the ashes of bullocks and 
goats to the winds, step boldly beyond the very Holy 
of Holies, and prostrating itself in the presence of 
God alone, pour out its complaints and sorrows on 
his infinite bosom. After this, there could be nothing 
that man dare not do. To stamp him with such dig- 
nity at the outset — to tell the ignorant beggar that 
he was greater than priests and sacrifices — was to set 
in motion a principle that, unarrested, would subvert 
every thing but truth. From that time on, through 
all the changes of religious and political life, man has 
been striving to make this principle practical. Baf- 
fled at every step, cheated in every effort, often dis- 
couraged, and sometimes despairing, he has still 
made advancement ; till now he assumes the character 
of dictator, rather than petitioner, and claims, rather 
than asks, his rights. 

At first, he thought only of religious liberty — dare 
speak out only as God commanded him. But the 



THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 233 

right to be his own master in one thing, soon embold- 
ened him to claim it in others. Still, no heavenly 
voice gave him permission to assert his civil rights 
before rulers ; nay, he was commanded to submit to 
wrong and injustice there ; to bow to the oppressor, 
and die without remonstrance at his feet. The con- 
sequence was, the moment Christianity acquired tem- 
poral power, liberty of conscience began to disap- 
pear. The Christian could resist the pagan ruler in 
his religious duties, but it was the most natural thing 
in the world, that, while he submitted to the dicta- 
tion of a king in temporal matters, he should also 
soon yield him, if a Christian, obedience in spiritual 
matters. Thus the Christian Church, in time, became 
as corrupt and heartless as the Jewish, and the peo- 
ple as blind and slavish as ever. Cheated out of the 
good they thought secure, they mourned on for cen- 
turies. I might, if I had time, carry the mind over 
that gloomy interval called the Dark Ages, and show, 
even there, this principle now and then struggling to 
the surface, and evincing its life. Over that gloomy 
sea, some system or man — some poet or writer — 
arose, like a Pharos, telegraphing the feeble light 
from one disordered century to another. The very 
chaos to which things were reduced — the mixture of 
democratic, theocratic, and monarchical institutions 
— shows the irregular yet still desperate efforts of 
this principle to embody itself. Feudalism grew out 
of it; nay, it was itself the embodiment of the doc- 
trine of freedom in a certain class : declaring that a 
few, at least, had personal rights, besides the mon- 

20* 



234 THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 

arch, and would defend them. The great increase 
of heresies in the Church, during the thirteenth cen- 
tury, was another exhibition of the questioning spirit 
— the right of man to think for himself. I might 
show how this darkness and confusion were the re- 
sults of the mind struggling to break away from old 
forms and old checks, till the cry for reformation be- 
came so loud and thrilling that it burst on the conti- 
nent of Europe like a revolution. But this is not ne- 
cessary ; the very fact of the Reformation of Luther 
proves the strength and progress of this principle 
of freedom, even in its infancy. Luther did not 
make the times, but the times made him. He was 
demanded, called for, in such accents that he was 
compelled to appear. But whence this demand ? 
Why this terrible waking up of the mind ? It was 
the secret claim finally uttered aloud — the universal 
whisper emboldened into a shout. It is true, the 
idea of constitutional liberty had scarcely yet dawned 
on the minds of men. Religious liberty was the 
chief object they sought; but they asked it with a 
firmer tone, and a clearer conception of their rights, 
than ever before. The caution and prudence which 
marked the course of kings and rulers also show 
the progress it had made ; and the world waked up 
farther ahead than where it. lay down to sleep. From 
that time on, its slumbers have been shorter and less 
profound than before. I cannot now, as I have said, 
trace this principle in its progress, as it is sufficient 
for my purpose to point to its existence here and 
there, and show how, with every appearance, it has 



THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 235 

gained strength and power. After the Reformation 
of Luther, it advanced with more rapid strides, though 
often disappearing from the surface, till it again burst 
forth in the English Revolution. The little civil 
liberty the fifteenth century gave man, seemed about 
to be lost, and kings and nobles no longer acted as 
checks on each other, but both together conspired to 
oppress the people. The character of the English 
Revolution evinces how much broader man's views 
had become. Here the first demand was for reform 
in the state. Hitherto, man had asked for his reli- 
gious rights, and dare ask for nothing except as he 
stood in the shadow of his , Grod and spoke. Now, 
all at once, he plants himself on a constitution, and 
not only appeals to a divine law, but points to himself 
as containing the charter of his rights. 

The wealthy Commons of England stood manfully 
up to resist the aggressive acts of Charles I., who 
had learned his miserable principles of government 
in Spain. Still, men were not prepared to sustain 
a revolution based on political principles alone — it 
needed one more struggle before they would stand on 
the broad platform of human rights, and maintain 
sternly their own in every department of life. That 
glorious Revolution which gave so much liberty to the 
world threatened to be a failure ; and not till religion 
entered into it as a chief element was its success 
certain. Cromwell had but little idea of constitu- 
tional liberty, and cared but little about it. During 
those fearful struggles in the Long Parliament, when 
such men as Hampden, and Pym, and Elliot were 



236 THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. - 

stepping between a haughty monarch and his subjects, 
he remained a passive spectator. But soon as religion 
became uppermost, we find him with his fierce riders 
bursting like a thunderbolt through the serried ranks 
of the royalist infantry, with the fearful war-cry 
" Religion !" on his lips, or pouring his strong batta- 
lions to the charge, with the shout, " The Lord of 
Hosts ! the Lord of Hosts !" 

With the Jewish government as a model, seeking 
to establish a sort of theocracy, he in the mean time 
planted, unconsciously, the tree of English liberty 
strong and deep ; for in such agitations men discuss 
the acts of their rulers, and in revolutions they learn 
their rights fast. What a stride forward had been 
taken since the time of Henry VIII. A king had 
been executed like a common felon for encroaching 
on the liberty of his subjects, and power had passed 
rapidly into the hands of the people ; so that, when 
James undertook to enact over the follies of his pre- 
decessor, how quietly he was shoved from the throne, 
and the Hanoverian line took the place of the Stuart 
line. 

But while the stern-hearted men of England were 
thus battling for their rights at home, a little band 
sought these shores ; and here, amid the solitude of 
the wilderness, removed from the influence of time- 
honored institutions, completed the code of human 
rights, and laid the broad basis of freedom ; so that, 
when the Declaration of Independence was given 
to the world, the character of all future struggles 
between man and his rulers became clearly defined. 



THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 237 

This single principle of personal freedom had strug- 
gled on through centuries, and finally blazed up 
in its splendor on the margin of the American 
wilderness. Now disappearing from sight, and now 
rising into view, in one form or another, it at last 
stood revealed in all its perfection and startling 
clearness before the world. Through seventeen cen- 
turies it had toiled its way, gaining slowly, but 
surely; .till between Caesar and his legions, and 
Washington and his patriot band, there is a difference 
wider than time. 

But since then, with what bold and rapid steps it 
has advanced. Since the completion and fearless 
utterance of the code of freedom, the nations of the 
earth seem to have been hurried forward by some 
secret yet irresistible impulse. Shall I point to 
Mexico and South America, rising from their semi-' 
barbarism at the sound of our voice ? to Ireland, 
well-nigh casting from her the most disgraceful yoke 
ever placed by a civilized nation on any people ? to 
Poland, rending her chain, and dying in the effort ? 
and last of all to France, slowly sinking in a sea of 
blood to rise again amid the horror of mankind ? 
Why was this simple declaration, "Ye are men." 
followed by such -sudden and fearful results ? Not 
only because a nation had cast off disguise and 
declared the truth without apology or explanation, 
and had made it good in the teeth of one of the 
strongest governments on the globe ; but because 
the principle itself had made such progress in the 
hearts of men that this free utterance met their 



238 THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 

wants, and forced into action their secret wishes. 
Have you ever seen an eagle fettered to the earth 
day after day and week after week ? How his plu- 
mage droops, and his proud bearing sinks away into 
an expression of fear and humility. His eye, that 
was wont to out-gaze the sun, is lustreless and dead, 
and but low sounds of irritation escape him. But 
just let the free cry of a free eagle, seated on some 
far mountain crag, meet his ear, and how his rough- 
ened plumage smothes itself into beauty, his droop- 
ing neck becomes erect, and his eye gleams as of 
old. Pour that wild scream again on his ear, and 
those broad wings unfold themselves in their native 
strength, and with a cry as shrill and piercing as that 
of his fellow, he strains on his fetter, and perchance 
bursts away, soaring gloriously towards heaven. 
Who then shall stay his flight, or fill his heart with 
fear ? So had man been chained down age after age, 
till his spirit was broken, his dignity and glory gone, 
and his soul marred and stained. Our Declaration 
of Rights was the cry of that free eagle on his moun- 
tain crag, and the fettered soul heard and answered 
it the world over, with a shout that rocked the 
thrones of Europe to their bases, and made the 
chain that bound it smoke and quiver beneath its 
angry blows. Poland stretched out her arms towards 
us, and fell weeping amid the ashes of Praga. Italy 
sang once more her ancient songs of freedom, in the 
Roman Forum. Ireland shouted and fell ; and 
France took it up, " and the earthquake opened 
under the Bourbon throne, and down sunk a whole 



THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 239 

dynasty of kings." Amid the half and complete 
failures of other nations, France alone was success- 
ful. I will not now speak of the horrors committed 
in the name of liberty during the French Revolution, 
for I wish only to illustrate the progress this repub- 
lican principle had made. In every struggle that 
man had put forth, he mingled in it more or less his 
civil rights, still sheltering himself under religion. 
Gradually venturing from express commands to gen- 
eral principles, he at length made a clean sweep of 
kings, and titles, and privileges, and property, and 
education. Ten years elapsed between the calling 
of the States General and the establishment of the 
Consulate — ten years that stand without a parallel. 
More than a million of men had fallen, and the most 
desperate struggle this principle had yet encountered 
had been put forth. France then seized our De- 
claration of Rights, and hurled it like a firebrand 
over the continent ; and kings gathered together in 
consternation to extinguish it, and consult how they 
could best crush principles with bayonets, and moved 
down their allied armies on the infant republic, but 
they only brought the tumult into their own land ; 
and lo ! the Revolution went rolling over the French 
borders, deluging Europe in its rash flow. The 
French Revolution was a most fearful episode in 
human history ; but it was needed : nothing else 
would have done. The iron framework of feudalism 
had fastened itself so thoroughly, and rusted so long 
in its place above the heads of the people, that no 
slow corrosion or steadily wasting power could effect 



240 THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 

its firmness. A convulsion that should heave and 
rend every thing asunder was demanded. It came 
in the Revolution. The kings of Europe, in endea- 
voring to crush it, invited it on their own soil, and 
^Bonaparte was just the man to accept this invitation. 
Taking the untamed energies this sudden upheaving 
had cast forth on the bosom of society, he prepared 
to dispute with Europe the exclusive claim of no- 
bility to power and privilege. .A plebeian himself, 
he made marshals, and dukes, and kings of plebeians. 
He took base-born men, and pitted them against 
princes and nobles of every degree, and the ple- 
beians proved themselves the better men. He forced 
the haughty aristocracy to mingle in blood and com- 
panionship with that of his own making, and carried 
out to its utmost limit the first act of the tiers etat, 
when they wished the orders to verify in common. 
He thus broke up this iron system over the conti- 
nent — drove every thing into fragments — and sent 
thrones, emptied of their kings, and all the insignia 
of royalty, drifting like a floating wreck on the ocean 
he had set heaving. The strongest pillars of royalty 
were shattered to their bases, and the objects of old- 
est, deepest reverence made powerless as the tricks 
of a play-actor. He confounded and confused every 
thing, and set the crowned heads *)f Europe in such 
a tumult and wonderment that they have not yet 
recovered their senses. He started every rivet in 
the chain of despotism so that it can never be fully 
fastened again, and, more than all, waked up the 
human mind to think for itself; so that the Dark 



THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 241 

Ages can never more return. With his motives I have 
now nothing to do. I am speaking of results only. 
Other experiments now are to be worked out, and 
other destinies reached, different from those which 
have heretofore made up the history of man. 

The French Revolution settled one thing in the 
minds of continental kings — that reform is not to be 
checked by the bayonet. Its effects are already 
visible ; and it stands, and shall stand, as a ghost 
with which to frighten them from their oppressions. 
Monarchs speak more respectfully of the rights of 
their subjects, and less arrogantly of their own power. 
Man, simple, untitled man, is no longer a cipher in 
government. He it consulted silently, if not openly ; 
and he is feared, as he stands in the mighty majesty 
of truth, more than hostile armies. 

As bloody and terrible as was the French Revolution, 
it did not disgust man with the doctrine of human 
rights. True, the elements slowly settled back again 
to their ancient place, but not to their ancient strength. 
In a few years, France had another revolution, which 
in all human probability is not the last, and England 
soon took up the agitated question, and was again on 
a sea of troubles. First, came the Emancipation Act, 
resisted at every step by those who saw in it but the 
entering wedge to all other reforms; but it passed. 
Next came the Reform Bill, met with an outcry by the 
feudalism of England. Noble lords declared it should 
never pass ; King William swore it should never re- 
ceive his signature. To grant it, was to concede the 
right of the people to make investigations and assail 

21 



242 THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 

corruptions. There would be no end to their demands 
were they obeyed, and nothing short of a complete 
reformation would satisfy them. They must be 
stopped on the threshold, or they never could be ar- 
rested. The reasoning was correct ; but the clamors 
of the people were stronger than the logic of noble 
lords. England was in peril, till one night, while the 
turbulent multitude was swaying to and fro without 
the House of Parliament, their shouts and murmurs 
now and then borne to the ears of the members, 
Macaulay arose, and in a thrilling speech, thundered 
on his astonished adversaries the prophetic words 
" Through Parliament, or over Parliament, this bill 
Will pass." It passed; and the throne of England 
stopped rocking on its base. The principle was again 
triumphant. A few years passed by, and lo ! a peti- 
tion for universal suffrage, backed by three and a half 
millions of names, and carried on the shoulders of six- 
teen strong workingmen, followed in solemn proces- 
sion by four thousand others, is borne into the House 
of Commons. Reformers themselves were startled 
— Universal Suffrage in England ! It is a strong 
government, and the wisest throne on earth, but before 
the silent ballot they would both disappear without a 
sound. It was rejected ; but there was not an argu- 
ment used in defence of the Reform Bill which was 
not doubly applicable to it, save one — a threatened 
civil war. Add this other motive, and that petition 
will also be granted. ^ Its basis — this doctrine of per- 
sonal freedom, is still at work. Look at the volun- 
tary associations in every village there, all bound to- 



THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 243 

gether and working together ! Ah this voluntary 
association is an engine of tremendous power, and 
will yet uproot every thing. The banding of the 
masses together, to act with skill and energy, to 
change them from a mob into an organized body, with 
resolutions and appeals in their hands, is investing 
them with a power nothing can withstand. 

I have only touched on points of English history 
— stepping from one great event to another — but what 
light does even this rapid survey throw on the ques- 
tion I have been discussing ? What would Henry the 
Eighth have clone with the Reform Bill, or Queen 
Elizabeth thought of a Chartist meeting? Poor 
Charles the First regarded the demand for redress of 
grievances sufficiently impertinent ; but how would 
he, or even George the Third, have treated a petition 
for universal suffrage ? England has but to keep the 
rate of progress she has made since the time of Eli- 
zabeth, and a tyro can calculate where she will be 
sixty years hence. Since Cromwell made such a jest 
of " the dignity which doth hedge a king," the peo- 
ple have not been vanquished in a single encounter 
with the throne. They have been cheated, and the 
promised privileges given so as to destroy their 
benefit, but the power has remained in their hands. 
The death of a leader, the desertion of a powerful 
friend bought over by a title, or a rash movement, 
alarming more prudent heads, may arrest all progress 
for awhile, and delude men into a belief that the 
struggle is abandoned ; but it is not so — it waits 



244 THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 

only for more favorable circumstances to reappear in 
greater power. 

Prussia, too, feels the might of this principle of 
freedom, and is agitated through all her borders. 
When the Revolution was shaking so terribly the 
thrones of Europe, and ringing, with such rapid and 
fearless strokes, the death-knell of tyranny on the 
continent, King William, pressed by his subjects, 
promised them a Constitution and a National Con- 
gress to meet at Berlin. The final triumph of the 
infamous coalition, that had struggled so long in the 
midst of defeat, gave him hopes that he might escape 
the necessity of keeping his royal promise ; and by 
deception and falsehood it has been put off till this 
day. But the people are again awake, and the "Fier 
Fragen " — four questions — have been put, and an 
answer demanded. Public assemblies are held in 
every province. Dusseldorf has been like New York 
in a mass meeting, while the king dare not call on 
the soldiery, knowing how much they sympathize 
with the people, and at last has given his promise 
also, that a Congress shall be called and a Constitu- 
tion given. When the tiers etat of Prussia shall 
assemble in Berlin, wo also to the House of Austria. 
Germany is already awake. Even Russia is discussing 
dangerous principles ; and Italy is rent with fruitless 
conspiracies ; while Switzerland is sending up her cry 
for a new constitution from all her Alpine hills. 
Throughout Europe there is a moving of the masses, 
indicating life and energy soon to be expended some- 
where on somebody. Instead of silently suffering, 



THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 245 

men begin to ask questions, and every one put in 
earnest, tells on the fate of the world more than a 
thousand cannon shot. European kings tremble, 
when they think of the death of Charles I. and 
Louis XVI., and the shout France may once more 
send over the continent. But Prussia is sufficient. 
Let her but have her Congress and constitution, and 
we shall see the scenes of the Long Parliament and 
Charles I. enacted over again. 

I have given but a synopsis of what I wish to say 
on the present aspect of Europe ; but enough will be 
seen to illustrate the single point I am after, namely, 
the progress of the democratic principle in the world. 
By comparing Europe now with her state sixty years 
ago, the most superficial observer will see that, at the 
same rate of progress, sixty years more will place 
most of her monarchies on the turbulent waters of a 
popular government. And why should it not advance 
with equal rapidity ? Is man, just as he is emerging 
into the light, and feeling his true dignity, to be 
whipped back like a dog to his kennel? Nay, the 
progress is to be more rapid ; for when power, in pass- 
ing from one hand into another, reaches a certain 
point, the transfer is made at once and the struggle 
is over. 

I have thus endeavored to make history illustrate 
my proposition, by watching the appearance of this 
principle at different periods, and studying its charac- 
ter and gauging its strength. But the present, no 
less than the past, throws in its testimony ; and even 
now this strange, unconquerable principle, is moving 

21* 



246 THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 

on, dragging the life and energy of the world after 
it. Oh, it is fearful to behold its strength, and the 
upheavings it has occasioned ! Ever since the time 
of Christ, man has striven more or less resolutely to 
get an acknowledgment of his rights, either in reli- 
gious or political matters, or in both. Despots have 
made use of old reverence — superstitious fears — trick- 
ery, falsehood — the dungeon — the bayonet, and the 
scaffold — to silence his claims and overcome his argu- 
ments. Force has done much ; for though 

" Truth crushed to earth will rise again," 

it often requires "the eternal years of God, ? ' and 
men have succeeded in burying it fathoms deep. 
But the one of which I have been speaking has had 
two wild resurrections ; one in England, when Crom- 
well shouted over its grave ; and one in France, when 
the infuriated populace called it in shrieks forth from 
its burial of ages. Oh ! how man has struggled to 
be free — free to eat the bread his own hand has 
sown — free to breathe his thoughts over the lyre, or 
utter them through the pages of his country's litera- 
ture — free to lay the taxes himself pays — free to 
worship God according to the dictates of his own 
conscience. See England convulsed, her House of 
Commons in m tears, and the torch of civil war blazing 
over the land, and all for a principle — the principle 
of personal freedom. Behold this country, pouring 
out its blood like water — see it clothed in mourning 
— her children marching barefoot over the frozen 



THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 247 

ground, leaving their bloody testimonials on every 
foot of it they traversed ; nay, marching by hundreds 
naked into battle, and all for this one principle. See 
France rent asunder, her streets flowing blood; and 
the loud beat of the alarm drum, and the steady peal 
of the tocsin, and the heavy roll of the tumbrels, 
going to and from the scaffold — the only music of 
Paris for years — and millions of men sacrificed ; and 
yet this principle, in some form or other, lying at the 
bottom of it all. Deceived as the fierce actors in this 
tragedy may have been, and diverted, though the 
thought, for awhile, might have been to personal 
safety or personal aggrandizement, yet the spell- 
words by which the storm was directed were " free- 
dom, equal rights." "Look at Europe, while the 
great Napoleonic drama was performing — there is 
something more than the unrolling of banners and 
the pomp and majesty of arms. Great deeds are 
wrought, and glory is the guiding star to thousands ; 
yet that long and fearful struggle, notwithstanding 
the various pretences set forth, was, with all its bloody 
accompaniments and waste of treasure, and loss of 
life, and suffering, simply an effort to stop the pro- 
gress of this one principle. Here all the diplomacy 
and hypocrisy of Europe are reduced to a single ele- 
ment — : the world in arms against equal rights.— 
France " threw down the head of a king as the gage 
of battle," and the conflict was set. Cromwell's 
army shouting through the fight, and French patriots 
storming over entrenchments with republican songs 
in their mouths, may be fanatical or deluded men, 



248 THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 

and cheated at last by ambitious chieftains, but the 
thing they sought was no delusion. 

What a terror it is able to inspire when such a vast 
expenditure of life and money is made to check its 
advancement. Behold the Czar of Russia, the Em-, 
peror of Germany, the King of Prussia, and even Pitt 
of England, combined together, calling on the wisdom 
of the statesmen, and summoning to their aid a mil- 
lion of men to crush a single principle. 

See the world also at this moment. Gensd'armes 
are parading the streets of every continental city — 
spies entering every suspected house — the passport 
of each wayfarer examined, and his person described 
— the freedom of speech suppressed, and bayonets 
gleaming before every printing office, to stop this 
principle from working amid the people. The poet 
must quench his burning thoughts ; the scholar sup- 
press his glowing words; the historian blot out his 
fairest page at the bidding of royal censors. Even 
His Holiness the Pope, will not allow the streets of 
Rome to be lighted with gas, nor a railroad to be made 
through his dominions, lest this principle should flash 
out of the rays of the one, or be hurried in with the 
speed of the other. Barriers are established, the 
very post-office is watched without intermission, and 
the minions of power scattered thick as the locusts 
of Egypt on every side, to keep from man the know- 
ledge of this principle. Yet it works on despite of 
its enemies. On the plains of Fleurus, at Lodi, Ar- 
eola, and Marengo — through the Black Forest, at 
Jena, Austerlitz, Eylau, and Friedland, it was the 



THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 249 

most terrible thing in the battle. The world saw only 
the smoke of the conflict, and heard only the thunder 
of cannon and groans of the dying, but this single 
principle gained more than Napoleon, and tyranny 
lost more than the victory. Nothing seems able to 
stay its progress. Outliving the age of superstition 
and ignorance — conquering the power of the church 
— beheading two kings — convulsing Europe with arms 
— and finally overthrown by numbers and buried with 
the bayonet, it still lives and breathes. Surviving 
defeat — scorning power — it carries a deathless exist- 
ence ; and whether shouting amid the roar of battle- 
or whispering through the pages of the poet and his- 
torian, it exhibits the same immortality. All meas- 
ures have been tried to destroy it — a false religion, 
diplomacy, fear, watchfulness, and persecution ; but 
in vain. It rises from under the weight of thrones, 
and from the field of carnage ; and though denied the 
press, and even language, and chased and hunted like 
a common felon the length and breadth of Europe ; 
pointed at, spit upon, speared, and trampled under 
foot, it still lives, and increases both in strength and 
boldness. What then shall be done to stay its pro- 
gress, what blow aimed at its life that has not been 
given ? While the conflict was secret, there were 
hopes that when it became open power would prevail, 
but now nothing remains to be tried. Progress it 
does and progress it will, and the day so much dreaded 
is slowly but surely approaching. 

Now, as there is a principle operating in this world, 
gaining strength every day ; and which, in some form 



250 THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 

or other, has excited more alarm and aroused more 
effort than all others put together, and one which 
threatens to change the structure of all human gov- 
ernments — or the kings and statesmen of the earth 
are mistaken, and pour out their treasures and the 
blood of their subjects in vain — the question naturally 
arises, what will be the issue. The solemnity of this 
question, and the immeasurable interests at stake, are 
the only reasons that have induced me to present this 
topic before the literary societies of this University. 
If republicanism was the end of it all, and the erec- 
tion of popular governments the world over the crown- 
ing act, then we might contemplate it only with the 
curiosity of the philosopher, or the pleasure of the 
patriot. But our own history shows that it does not 
end here. It is as active in the midst of this republic 
as in the monarchy of England. If, in despotisms, 
it tends to limited monarchy, and in a monarchy to 
republicanism, in a republic it tends to radicalism and 
anarchy. It progresses faster than the virtue and 
knowledge of man. Taking the, lead, it despises both, 
and breaks away from those influences designed to 
curb it. Guided by hope, and not at all by memory, 
it pushes on, throwing off restraint after restraint, 
removing check after check, believing that the will 
of the majority must always be right and safe. He 
must be a careless or ignorant observer who does not 
see that this principle, in its progress, is here destroy- 
ing reverence for authority and law, respect for con- 
stitutions, and the wisdom of our fathers. Greater 
latitude is demanded, more liberal construction re- 



THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 251 

quired, and every thing set afloat on the popular cur- 
rent. On this doubtful stream, also, the hopes of the 
scholar and the interests of learning are yet to be 
cast. Flooding one department after another, it is 
destined yet to bear all things on its turbulent bosom. 
Before the tyranny of faction the voice of the scholar 
is yet to be hushed, or sound clear and clarion-like 
over its tumult. Some see the course it is taking, 
and are rushing back into the past, and seizing its 
strong checks ; but they by this effort only separate 
themselves from the mass, not stay the movement. 
A wise and instructed policy teaches us that it is not 
to be arrested, and that the office of the reformer, at 
the present day, is to guide it towards the point of 
greatest safety. I know the disgust of a refined 
mind to the contract it is exposed to in the outward 
life of our times. I know the discouragements of' a 
thoughtful man, as he contemplates the ascendency 
of the bad, and the departure of the nation from truth 
and virtue ; and the strong tendency to retire to the 
companionship of books, while the age works out its 
own experiments. The world of the scholar is filled 
with no conflicts, marred by no passion, disturbed by 
no violence. The breath of calumny does not reach 
him there, and falsehood and wrong have no entrance. 
The voice of ambition sounds faint and distant, and 
he shrinks from going forth from his tranquil enjoy- 
ments to battle with selfish, reckless, and ignorant 
men. But the age is calling on him in tones that 
must be heeded. If this world is to be cut from its 



252 THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 

ancient moorings, and drift off on an unknown sea ? 
there can be no question brought before you fraught 
with deeper interest, or demanding more imperiously 
your serious thought. It is my belief that the Christ- 
ian scholar must, under Heaven, save the world, or 
it is lost ; that his power must be more practical than 
heretofore, and all the force he can wield used, not 
in opposing, but directing the spirit that is abroad, 
carrying every thing before it. With virtue and in- 
telligence to guide it, this encroaching revolutionary 
movement may work the world's regeneration ; with- 
out it, it will finish in a circle, and men at last will 
-flee to despotism to escape anarchy. 

But there is an aspect to this question, the con- 
templation of which thrills the heart. Man has never 
yet exerted his power. Controlled and checked at 
every step, he has slept through the ages, and we 
have not yet seen what he can do. Here is a coun- 
try where every man is not only allowed to exert 
what force is in him, but it is called for. Every 
man, standing up in his full manhood, is asked to 
expend himself — strike with his strongest, heaviest 
blow. And behold the effect ? Scarce seventy years 
have past, and the feeble colony has become the 
second commercial nation on the globe, and yielding 
to none in resources and strength. Our statistics 
are at this day a fable and a falsehood to nine-tenths 
of the inhabitants of Europe. What, a nation spring- 
ing up and seating itself in the front rank of pow- 
ers in less time than it has taken to build many of 



THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 253 

their churches ! The thing is preposterous. To me 
there is no more sublime or terrific sight than this 
country to-day presents, as every man is giving forth 
his entire energy. Before the progress of this prin- 
ciple we have been discussing, the whole world is 
soon to be in the same position. And when the 
race is let loose on the dwelling it inhabits, and 
every man gives himself soul and body to the work, 
this planet of ours will be in his grasp like clay in 
the hands of the potter. When, instead, of a few 
minds clustered around a throne directing the af- 
fairs of the world, its entire mind shall be devoted to 
them, there will be changes it would be deemed 
presumptuous now to predict. Let this hitherto 
unknown, unfelt energy be under the control of 
truth and virtue, and a " nation will be born 
in a day." At all events, if my position be correct, 
man is to be let loose on himself and <jon his des- 
tiny, and the whole structure of human society is to 
change. 

In conclusion, I would say that my fears of the 
issue are stronger than my hopes — that I have but 
little faith in the wisdom of the masses, and still less 
in their virtue. I dare not trust my race ; or rather, 
I dare not trust ignorant men in the hands of reck- 
less demagogues, and under the sway of political fac- 
tions. It is not with cheering confidence I trace the 
progress of the principle I have been discussing ; but 
still the fact is there, and must be looked in the face. 
The whirlpool will come, and into its vortex we 

22 



254 THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 

must gaze whether we were wrecked or saved. Still, 
in agitation there is always hope for the truth. It is 
the apathy which successful power creates it has most 
to fear. When every thing is afloat, deception and 
falsehood may for a while prevail, but men at last will 
begin to reflect, and their passion and prejudice sub- 
side. At all events, liberty is not to be resisted be- 
cause of its irregularities, nor scorned for the evils 
that sometimes follow in its train. Another has beau- 
tifully said, " Ariosto tells a pretty story of a fairy, 
who, by some mysterious law of her nature, was con- 
demned to appear at certain seasons, in the form of a 
foul and poisonous snake. Those who injured her 
during the period of her disguise were for ever ex- 
cluded from participation in the blessings which she 
bestowed. But to those who, in spite of her loath- 
some aspect, pitied and protected her, she afterward 
revealed herself in the beautiful and celestial form 
which was natural to her„ accompanied their steps, 
granted all their wishes, filled their houses with 
wealth, made them happy in love, and victorious 
in war. Such a spirit is Liberty. At times, she 
takes the form of a hateful reptile. She growls, 
she hisses, she stings. But wo to those who, in dis- 
gust, shall venture to crush her ! And happy are 
those who, having dared to receive her in her de- 
graded and frightful shape, shall at length be re- 
warded by her in the time of her beauty and glory." 
After passion subsides, and men cease to be dazzled 
by the new light that has amazed them, reason 



THE ONE PROGRESSIVE PRINCIPLE. 255 

assumes the^ascendency, "bringing order out of chaos. 
Let us still hope this may be the result, and that it 
can be said at least with truth to man : — 

" Stand up erect ! thou hast the form 

And likeness of thy God ; who more? 
A soul as dauntless 'mid the storm 
Of daily life, a heart as warm 
And pure as breast e'er wore." 



256 THE APOSTLES PAUL AND JOHN. 



CHAPTER VI. 

A STRONG MAN NEVER CHANGES HIS MEN- 
TAL CHARACTERISTICS, 

OR, A CONTRAST BETWEEN THE APOSTLES PAUL AND JOHN. 

There is no error more common than to erect a 
single standard by which to judge every man. Tem- 
perament and mental peculiarities do not change with 
the moral character. The man of fierce and ardent 
nature, who loves excitement and danger, and enjoys 
the stern struggle and field of great risks, does not 
become a lamb because his moral nature is renovated. 
His best energies will pant for action as much as ever, 
but seek different objects and aim at nobler results. 
Half the prejudice and bigotry among us grows out 
of the inability, or umvillingness, to allow for the 
peculiar temperament or disposition of others. The 
world is made up of many varieties, and our Saviour 
seems to have had this fact in view when he chose his 
Apostles. As far as we know their characters, they 
were widely different, and stand as representatives of 
distinct classes of men. The object of this doubtless 
was to teach us charity. Take three of them, Peter, 
John, and Paul, (the latter afterwards chosen, but by 
divine direction,) and more distinct, unlike men can- 
not be found. Peter, like all Galileans, who resembled 
very much the Jewish nation in character, was rash, 



THE APOSTLES PAUL AND JOHN. 257 

headlong, and sudden in his impulses. Such a man 
acts without forethought. When Christ appeared on 
the shore of the lake, Peter immediately jumped over- 
board and swam to him. On the night of the betray- 
al, when the furious rabble pressed around his Master, 
he never counted heads, but drew his sword and laid 
about him, cutting off an ear of the High Priest's 
servant. Such a man loves to wear a sword ; we 
venture to say he was the only Apostle who did. 
When Christ said, " All of you shall be offended be- 
cause of me this night," Peter was the first to speak, 
declaring confidently that, though all the others might 
fail, yet he would not. Said he, " Though I should 
die with thee, yet will I not deny thee." A few hours 
after, under an 'equally sudden impulse, he not only 
denied him, but swore to the lie he uttered. Paul 
could not have done this, without becoming an apos- 
tate. He acted deliberately, and with forethought 
and decision. Peter's repentance was as sudden as 
his fault — one reproachful, mournful look, scattered 
the fear, which had mastered his integrity, to the 
wind, and he went out and wept bitterly. 

But the contrast we love to contemplate most of all, 
is that exhibited by John and Paul. In the former, 
sentiment and sympathy predominated over the intel- 
lectual powers, while the latter was all intellect and 
force. The former was a poet by nature — kind, gene- 
rous, and full of emotion. He loved to rest in the Sa- 
viour's bosom and look up into his face. His was one 
of those natures which shun the storm and tumult of 
life, and are happy only when surrounded with those 

22* 



258 THE APOSTLES PAUL AND JOHN. 

they love. Perfectly absorbed in affection for Christ, 
he had no other wish but to be near him — no other joy 
but to drink in his instructions, and receive his caress. 
Even if he had not been a Christian, he would have 
possessed a soul of the highest honor, incapable of 
deceit and meanness. He betray, or deny his master ! 
Every faculty he possessed, revolted at the thought. 

No threats or torture can unwind a mother's arms 
from her child. If torn from it, she goes through 
danger from which the boldest shrink to embrace it 
again. So when the Roman soldiery and the clamor- 
ous rabble closed darkly around the Saviour, Mary 
was nearer the cross than they all, and heeded not 
their scoffs, feared not their violence. There too 
stood John by her side, rivaling even the mother in 
love. He forgot he had a life to lose — he did not 
even hear the taunts that were rained upon him, nor 
see the fingers of scorn that pointed at his tears. 
Christ, in the midst of his sufferings, was struck with 
this matchless love, and bade him take his place as a 
son to his afflicted mother. 

Throughout his life, he exhibits this warm and gene- 
rous nature ; his epistles are the outpourings of 
affection, — and love, love is his theme from first to 
last. Place him in what relations you will, and he 
displays the same lovely character. When banished 
to Patmos, he trod the solitary beach, lulled by the 
monotonous dash of waves at his feet, he was placed 
in a situation to develop all the sternness and energy 
he possessed, yet he is the same submissive, trusting 
spirit as ever. When addressed by the voice from 
heaven, he fell on his face as a dead man ; and when 



THE APOSTLES PAUL AND JOHN. 259 

the heavens were opened on his wondering vision, 
and the mysteries and glories of the inner sanctuary 
were revealed to his view, he stood and wept at the 
sight. In strains of sublime poetry, he pours forth 
his rapt soul, which, dazzled by the effulgence around 
it, seems almost bewildered and lost. 

And when the lamp of life burned dimly, and his 
tremulous voice could hardly articulate, he still spoke 
of love. It is said he lived to be eighty years of age, 
and then, too feeble to walk, was carried into the 
church on men's shoulders, and, though scarce able to 
speak, would faintly murmur: "Brethren, love one 
another." Affection was his life, and it seemed to 
him that the world could be governed by love. 

But while he was thus breathing forth his affection- 
ate words, Paul was shaking Europe like a storm. 
Possessing the heart of a lion, he too could love, but 
with a sternness that made a timorous nature almost 
shrink from his presence. Born on the shores of the 
Mediterranean, with the ever-heaving sea before him, 
and an impenetrable barrier of mountains behind him, 
his mind early received its tendencies, and took its 
lofty bearing. 

In Jerusalem, he had scarcely completed his studies, 
before he plunged into the most exciting scenes of 
those times. The new religion, professing to have 
the long-promised Messiah for its founder, agitated 
the entire nation. To the proud, young scholar, those 
ignorant fishermen, disputing with the doctors of the 
law, and claiming for their religion a superiority over 
his own, which had been transmitted through a thou- 
sand generations, ajid been sanctioned by a thousand 



260 THE APOSTLES PAUL AND JOHN. 

miracles and wonders, were objects of the deepest 
scorn. Filled with indignation, and panting for ac- 
tion, he threw himself boldly into the struggle, and 
became foremost in the persecution that followed. 
Arrested by no obstacles, softened by no suffering, he 
roamed the streets of Jerusalem like a fiend, breaking 
even into the retirement of the Christian's home, 
dragging thence women and children, and casting 
them into prison. One of these determined men, who 
once having made up their minds to a thing, can be 
turned aside by no danger, not even by death, he 
entered soul and heart into the work of extermination. 

Inflexible, superior to all the claims of sympathy, and 
master even of his own emotions, he, in his intellectual 
developments, was more like Bonaparte that any other 
man in history. He had the same immovable will — 
the same utter indifference to human suffering, after 
he had once determined on his course — the same tire- 
less and unconquerable energy — the same fearlessness 
both of man's power and opinions — the same self-reli- 
ance and control over others. But especially were 
they alike in the union of a strong and correct judg- 
ment, with sudden impulse and rapidity of thought, 
and, more than all, in their great practical power. 
There are many men of strong minds whose force 
nevertheless wastes itself in reflection or in theories. 
Thought may work out into language, but not in ac- 
tion. They will plan, but they cannot perform. But 
Paul not only thought better than all other men, but 
he could worh better. 

As, in imagination, I behold him in that long 
journey to Damascus, whither his rage was carrying 



THE APOSTLES PAUL AND JOHN. 261 

him, I often wonder whether, at night, when, exhaust- 
ed and weary, he pitched his tent amid the quietness 
of nature, he did not feel doubts and misgivings creep 
over his heart, and if that stern soul did not relent. 
As the sun stooped to his glorious rest in the heavens, 
and the evening breeze stole softly by, and perchance 
the note of the bulbul filled the moonlight with 
melody, it must have required nerves of iron to resist 
the soothing influences around him. Yet, young as 
he was, and thus open to the beauties of nature, he 
seemed to show no misgivings. 

But the wonderful strength of his character is 
exhibited no where more strikingly, than when smitten 
to the earth and blinded by the light and voice from 
Heaven. When the trumpet arrested the footsteps 
of John, on the isle of Patmos, he fell on his face as 
a dead man, and dared not stir or speak till encouraged 
by the voice from on high, saying, " Fear not!" But 
Paul,- — or Saul, as he was then called, — though a 
persecutor and sinner, showed no symptoms of alarm 
or terror. His powerful mind at once perceived the 
object of this strange display of Divine power, and 
took at once its decision. He did not give way to 
exclamations of terror, or prayers for safety, but, 
master of himself and his faculties, said, " Lord, 
what wilt thou have me to do f" Something was to be 
do?ie, he well knew ; this sudden vision and voice were 
not sent to terrify, but to convince, and ever ready to 
act, he asked what he should do. 

The persecutor became the persecuted, and the 
proud student, the humble, despised disciple of Jesus 
of Nazareth, and leaving the halls of learning, and 



262 THE APOSTLES PAUL AND JOHN, 

companionship of dignitaries, he cast his lot in with 
the fishermen. 

This was a great change, and religion effected it all, 
yet it could not alter his mental characteristics. He was 
just as determined, and resolute, and fearless, as ever. 

He entered Jerusalem and made the Sanhedrim 
shake with his eloquence. Cast out of the city, he 
started for his native city — for the home of his boy- 
hood — his father's house — his kindred and friends. 
Thence to Antioch and Cyprus, along the coast of Sy- 
ria to Greece and Rome, — over the known world he went 
like a blazing comet, waking up the nations of the earth. 

John in giving an account of the revelations made 
to him, declares that he wept at the sight. Paul, in 
his calm, self-collected manner, when speaking of the 
heavens opened to his view, says simply, that he saw 
things which were not lawful for man to utter. From 
the top of Mars Hill with the gorgeous city at his 
feet, and the Acropolis and Parthenon behind him, — 
on the deck of his shattered vessel, and in the gloomy 
walls of a prison — he speaks in the same calm, 
determined tone. Deterred by no danger — awed 
by no presence, and shrinking from no contest, he 
moves before us like some grand embodiment of power. 

His natural fierceness often breaks forth in spite 
of his goodness. He quarreled with Peter, and after- 
wards with Barnabas, because he insisted that Mark 
should accompany them in their visit to the churches. 
But on a former occasion Mark had deserted hiin, and 
he would not have him along again. Stern and de- 
cided himself, he wished no one with him who would 
blench when the storm blew loudest, and so he and 



THE APOSTLES PAUL AND JOHN. 263 

Barnabas separated. Paul had rather go alone than 
have ten thousand by his side if they possessed fear- 
ful hearts. 

So when the High Priest ordered him to be smitten, 
he turned like a lion upon him and thundered in his as- 
tonished ear, " Grod shall smite thee, thou whitedwall /" 

He would not submit to wrong unless made legal 
by the civil power, and then, he would die without a 
murmur. When his enemies, who had imprisoned him 
illegally, found he was a Roman citizen, they in alarm 
sent word to the jailer to release him. But Paul 
would not stir; "They have seized me wrongfully," 
said he, " and now let them come themselves and take 
me out publicly." He was stern but not proud, for 
he Said, "I am the least of the saints, not fit to be 
called an Apostle." Bold, but never uncourteous — 
untiring, undismayed, and never cast down — love to 
God and man controlled all his acts. And truer heart 
never beat in a human bosom. What to him was 
wealth ! What the smiles or frowns of the great, and 
the triumph of factions ! With a nobler aim, enthu- 
siastic in a worthier cause, sustained by a stronger 
soul, he exclaimed, " I glory in the cross" The 
sneering world shouted in scorn, " The cross, the 
cross !" to signify the ignominious death of his Master. 
" The cross, the cross!" he echoed back, " in tones 
of increased volume and power, till the ends of the 
earth caught the joyful sound." The united world 
could not bring a blush to his cheek or timidity to his 
eye. He could stand alone amid an apostate race 
and defy the fury of kings and princes. Calm, digni- 
fied and resolved, he took the path of duty, with an 



264 THE APOSTLES PAUL AND JOHN. 

unfaltering step. No malice of his foes could deter 
him from laboring for their welfare — no insult pre- 
vent his prayer in their behalf — no wrongs heaped on 
'his innocent head, keep back his forgiveness. 
\ One cannot point to a single spot in his whole 
career where he lost his self-possession, or gave way 
to discouragement or fear. An iron man in his 
natural characteristics, he was nevertheless humble, 
meek, kind, and forgiving. And then his death, — 
how indescribably sublime ! Bonaparte, dying in the 
midst of a storm, with the last words that escaped 
his lips a martial command, and his spirit, as it passed 
to its eternal home, watching in its delirium the cur- 
rent of a heavy fight, is a sight that awes and startles 
us. But behold Paul, — also a war-worn veteran, bat- 
tered with many a scar, though in spiritual warfare — 
looking back not with remorse but joy — not clinging 
to the earth, but anxious to depart. Hear his calm, 
serene voice, ringing above the storms and commo- 
tions of life : " I am now ready to be offered, and the 
time of my departure is at hand. I have fought a 
good fight, 1 have finished my course, — there is laid 
up for me a crown of righteousness." 

Thus passed away this powerful man. I have 
spoken but little of his moral character, of his faith, 
or religious teachings, but confined myself chiefly to 
those. natural traits which belonged to him as a man, 
independent of that peculiar power and grace given 
him by God. Hence, I have treated him with a 
familiarity which might seem unwise, had I spoken of 
him as an inspired Apostle. I wished to show how wide- 
ly apart in their characters men equally good may be. 



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